Halo: Despair's Light
by Luccarios
Summary: Despair and anguish plagues the populations of worlds across UEG territory, and with each passing month, the suffering grows more. And the Covenant has the UNSC in its sights. And with them comes swift, brutal death. A grimdark tale following the lives of flawed people as they face the single greatest threat to human existence. Rated M.
1. Pre-thoughts

**You can skip this if you want. It's just some explanations about the story and the writing process I took. Not that interesting, unless you find it interesting.**

This story takes a different accounting of the Human-Covenant War, with subtle changes to the flow and impact of certain events. Despite this, I've tried to stay as close to actual Halo lore as possible, which is why this story will take a long time to write (and it's going to be a long story). I don't get to work on it often (those college dayz), and when I do, I spend probably 50% of the time studying/researching the lore. I just want to make sure that the storyline and its events make sense, in light of the backdrop of the Halo universe. It's a bit more difficult these days, because the Halo lore has been expanding very seriously lately. Back in my day, all we had was Fall of Reach, First Strike and Ghosts of Onyx. And we had to share the Ghosts of Onyx. Luckily, most of the new lore doesn't touch on the Human-Covenant War, but some of it does, so I have to go and find out (1) what's been changed/added to the lore, such as certain events mentioned in the new books, umm, a lot of ship types have been added mainly because of Fleet Battles, etc., and (2) what type of impact the said event had on the War.

For instance, if I'd written this story a few years ago, then I could have had more freedom to explain how the Covenant discovered Earth. But apparently, it had something to do with the battle of Meridian, which ended in ~2551. And three-year-long battles (which is what the battle of Meridian was) used to not happen in Halo. They happen a lot in something like 40k, but definitely not in Halo. So I have to think about what conditions are appropriate for the battles that take place. What needs to be in place for the UNSC to hold out for half a year? What about an entire year? Who needs to be in the battle, what weapons need to be there, what goals are both sides trying to achieve, etc.? If the Covenant steamroll a planet, then what type of defenses did that planet have? Or alternatively, how massive was the Covenant fleet, and who was commanding it?

Spartans won't make any real appearance in this story, outside of mentions and maybe brief encounters. That's mainly because Spartans really weren't a thing for people during the majority of the Human-Covenant war. Besides the fact that they weren't "revealed" until the late 2540s, most people never encountered them, and most of what people knew was based on rumor and speculation. People probably didn't talk about them much, because there wasn't much point in talking about them: for all their **possible** courage and bravery (again, especially in the earlier days of their revelation to the public, Spartans were mostly just stories of unkillable superheroes for all intents and purposes), the war was still being lost. If I'm a working man in the outer-colonies, struggling to make ends meet in a bad economy, with a family to feed and the constant real threat of a Covenant attack, which probably won't be protected against by the UNSC, then what do I care about a Spartan? A Spartan's never saved me, as far as I know.

This is a story following everyday people, and how their lives evolve given the times that they live in; their motives, goals and achievements will therefore revolve around the Human-Covenant War, as well as the relation between people, and their perspectives of the UNSC/URF/Insurrection. It's a darker take on Halo than the average. Coarse language, graphic events and details and all. A lot of people are going to die, and a lot of those deaths will ultimately be for nothing in the grand scheme of things. Most of this won't be fleshed out until around the start of part 1, which is somewhere in the Chapter 8/9 range.

I read a lot on fanfiction, and it seems to me that a large portion of Halo stories (I'd go so far as to argue 1/2 of them) typically involve a deep, dynamic romantic relationship between two people. I think there's a good one going around now between Female N6 and Carter. That type of stuff is not going to happen at all in Despair's Light; I'll just get that out the way now, because I recognize that a lot of people like that (Which is cool, really. I mean, I'm not about to bullshit anyone, I've read romance novels before. Just not my thing these days, personally). The few relationships that I have within the story are going to be placed in the backdrop of UNSC society at the time, and the stresses and difficulties involved. That goes for romantic and non-romantic. It's not easy to maintain a friendship with someone who lives on the other side of the galaxy; with someone who's had to dedicate their life to military service, etc.

The intro is going to be somewhere around chapters 1-6/7ish. Part 1 will be spanning, I estimate chapter 8/9ish to chapter 18ish. Part 2, chapter 18ish to chapter 30ish, so on and so forth. Alright go ahead and read if you want.


	2. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Margaret Olan watched her students chase each other across the playground, who were shouting and cheering at each other in the various games they were playing. Bright, enthusiastic young faces laughed and played with one another. Every day was like this during recess; it was far from a desiccated affair. She scanned the entirety of the playground, individually identifying every student she looked at. Most of the boys were busy playing gravball or dodgeball. And most of the girls were playing what looked like tag.

Margaret noticed one kid in particular who had climbed into a tree, sitting on a thick branch by himself, reading from a datapad. Her expression shifted from quizzical to recognition as she identified the boy as Mago, who happened to be the newest member of the class.

Margaret stood up from her seat and stretched, then cut a path across the giant playground towards the tree. She had to constantly be on the lookout - the kids were running around wildly, almost oblivious to her presence. Jungle gyms and other latticework made her journey all the more eventful. Dirt and grit already coated her pants, but she didn't mind. She did, however, steer clear of the field-gravball game entirely, which seemed to be a bit more rough than it should have been; the boys weren't holding anything back. A big ball of motion rumbled around the field, with cries of pain and laughter. Margaret sighed as she got near Mago.

Margaret stepped next to the tree and looked up at Mago.

"Hey, Ms. Olan," Mago said, his eyes reading from the data pad intensely.

"You don't want to play with the others, Mago?"

"No ma'am," he responded, finally taking his eyes off the datapad. He looked her directly in the eyes.

"Well, you have to get down from up there, Mago. Your mom would kill me if she knew I let you stay up there."

Mago simply nodded before attaching the datapad to his belt. For a brief moment, Margaret thought that he would surely need help getting down. But Mago gracefully slipped out of the tree with ease. The boy never ceased to surprise. Margaret smiled and knelt down, getting eye-level with him.

"So - what're you reading that's so much better than a game of gravball, huh?"

"It's a book about different wars that happened way back when everyone lived on Earth. There was a lady named Mavia who stood up for her people and fought against Romans. And then there's a section on a guy named Rommel who fought in the desert."

Normally, Margaret would have been somewhat astounded. The thought of an elementary student reading about classical humanity was almost absurd. But from the day his mom had first dropped him off at school, Mago had consistently shown himself to be an idiosyncratic boy. His grades weren't the best in the class, but he was certainly one of the smartest students she had. The boy had a sort of quiet confidence about him; as if he were, literally, a miniature manifestation of his late father. Margaret had been told that his father died in combat over 2 years ago at Vodin, but she imagined that the two looked very similar. Short, uncombed jet-black hair covered Mago's head, and his slightly frowned and serious eyes were an emotionless grey. Although he had an average build, the boy stood with his back straight, had a remarkable air of confidence around him, and rarely smiled. Mago behaved in a manner of someone well past his age.

A miniature manifestation of his late father.

Margaret sat down on the grass next to him in the shade, and he followed suit.

"So, what have you learned?"

"That it's important to know what matters and what doesn't; it's important to know the difference between right and wrong. It's always good to fight for what's right, even if it means putting yourself on the line."

He was so serious.

Mago's mother, Raeiana, had mentioned how principled Mago had become after his father's death, and his inclination towards reading various military and philosophical books. Raeiana had jokingly said that living with a teenager in the house wasn't anything like she'd expected. Indeed, it was strange for a child to grow mentally at such a young age.

The parking lot on the far side of the field began filling up as parents arrived to pick up their children. Margaret pulled herself to her feet, brushing off her jeans and waving at the incoming parents. From where she stood, she could make out Mago's mother and his younger sister. She heard an audible sigh from behind her.

"What's the matter? Don't want to go home?" She asked Mago.

"Yes, I do. But Raeia's going to be yapping her mouth off all the way home."

Mago's sister, Raeia, was a pretty little girl about 3 years younger than Mago. "You should be glad to have a sister who looks up to you, y'know. There's nothing wrong with that."

Mago didn't respond as he scrambled to his feet and walked off. His sister ran across the playground with a big grin on her face. They connected about halfway across the playground, with Raeia wrapping her arms around Mago in a tight hug, and Margaret could see the slightly annoyed expression on his face.

She headed back to her seat near the school building, pulling out her personal data pad as the playground began clearing out. She thumbed a few tabs, flipping past several screens before she came to the NEWS section. At first, she didn't see anything serious. There was still some protesting going on throughout the inner-colonies due to the fragile economy, and a full-blown riot had taken place about a week ago on some outer-colony called Sedra. Margaret had never heard of the place, but the people there were furious over the almost non-existent UNSC presence, combined with a very weak economy. Margaret wouldn't be surprised if the planet turned innie soon. The War had stretched the UNSC to the bone, and the situation in the outer-colonies had steadily deteriorated as a direct result of a weakening UNSC presence. Economic conditions had only served to magnify that effect.

A flashing BREAKING NEWS tab got her attention suddenly, and she thumbed it.

The reading was a long section detailing a battle that'd taken place not too long ago between the UNSC and the aliens. Margaret had to stifle a wave of fear and nausea as she read the details. It was a severe loss, like so many battles before it. She'd only heard of Jericho VII once before, but it still struck her that the world had been entirely destroyed. At the bottom of the reading was a casualty report; the number estimates were staggering, and several naval warships had perished in the fighting.

Margaret put away her datapad and clutched her arms around her chest, her entire mood ruined by the news. So many lives were being lost to the War, and there was little to show for it. She couldn't imagine encountering the aliens in person, let alone fighting them. Many of the students she was now teaching would one day have to fill those shoes and step foot onto the frontlines.

Mago would fill those shoes. The thought shook her more than it should have, but Margaret had grown fond of him. She couldn't imagine the foreboding worry his mother carried.

* * *

 **1511 Hours NC-EST, 28 April 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Alcaeus Lycurgus System, _Pilvros_ _City,_ planet New Carthage**

 **Central Pilvros Secondary School**

 **Chapter One**

* * *

Mago fought to stay awake. Every few seconds, his head would nod forward slightly, and then he'd jump back to full alert. It'd been like this almost every day this week in biology class. The last class of the day.

"Mago? Your answer?" Ms. Lugia Yzebel asked.

"I can't say," He answered.

"Come on, Mag. You know this."

"Um, they have 32 teeth. I think. Right?" He answered.

The other students broke out into a small round of snickering at that. Mago sighed and facepalmed. _Whatever._

"Dwarka Squirrels don't have _any_ teeth, Mago. You should know this," Ms. Yzebel told him, bringing up one of the small animals on the holo-projector in front of the class.

A holographic representation of one of the furry animals rotated in mid-air. The projection zoomed in on its open mouth, which was entirely toothless. Mago watched and listened as the teacher gave a brief explanation of the diet of Dwarka Squirrels, and how their evolutionary track led to them mutating out of having any molars. Dwarka Squirrels had a remarkable susceptibility to amyloids. It wasn't uncommon for biologists to discover dwarkas that have prion diseases.

But it was hard for Mago to focus; an overwhelming lassitude plagued him, and he was eager to be out of school.

A hand tapped him on his left shoulder. Mago glanced over his shoulder at Anysus.

"Yo, dude - you good?" Anysus whispered.

"Tired," Mago responded.

The school bell rang then, and the class erupted in a cacophony as everyone began rushing to leave school. Mago stuffed his belongings in his bag and stood up from his desk, checking his wrist-chronometer. Students brushed past in a mad rush to get home. The teacher had to raise her voice over the noise, shouting out reminders to do homework and the upcoming test and whatnot.

"You've been off all week, dude," Anysus reminded him as they proceeded to leave the room.

Mago was about to respond when Ms. Yzebel said, "Mago - stay behind for a minute, please. I'd like to talk to you."

 _Damn it._

"I'll see you at work, dude," Anysus said as he shuffled his way out of the room.

Mago took a seat directly across from Ms. Yzebel's desk. The overhead intercom channels switched on as someone from the front office began reading off the daily school news, as was customary at Central Pilvros Secondary School. It was the usual. An upcoming home gravball game this weekend. A reminder for the weekly book club meeting. Sign ups for the next school play. Some weird 'meet-a-friend event' taking place tomorrow, that was sure to be awkward as hell. It was mostly stuff that Mago had no interest in.

The remaining students spilled out of the class until Mago and Ms. Yzebel were the only two left in the room.

"How have you been, Mago?" She asked him, opting to sit on her desk in front of Mago.

"I've been better."

"You haven't seemed yourself lately. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just... Work."

"Work?"

"Yes - at the factory," Mago told her. He worked with Anysus at one of the munitions and equipment factories run by Hannibal Weapon Systems. They built anything from UH-144 Falcons, to the UNSCs famed M808s, all the way to small-arms weapons. Pretty much anything that the planetary defense forces and the UNSC needed. Technically, it was illegal to work there unless you were 20 years old. Neither Mago nor Anysus were that age yet. But the higher-ups didn't need to know that, if they even cared.

The work conditions were raw and dangerous. Handling high-powered and volatile military equipment was anything but safe, and Mago had witnessed several incidents firsthand. Mago needed the pay, though. It was good pay. And it was a good job. Working at the factory gave Mago a satisfying sense of accomplishment; he knew that he was a part of the war effort, however small it may be. With the way the War was going, the UNSC needed as much support as it could get. Mago hadn't hesitated to apply for work at the factory.

Ms. Yzebel leaned forward slightly on the desk and waved some hair out of her face, looking Mago directly in the eye.

"You're only eighteen. What are you doing working there?" She asked him.

"That's personal, Ms. Yzebel," Mago told her, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

Ms. Yzebel reached out to a stack of papers buried somewhere within the stuff she had on her desk. She pulled out one paper in particular, and Mago recognized it as the homework assignment from the other day. A moderate take-home quiz covering a lecture from last week about the transmigration of animals from one biosphere to another. She handed it to him.

Mago recognized his small half-cursive handwriting. A grade of 92 was scribbled in red ink at the top.

"You've been doing well this semester. Better than most of the class. Don't let work control your life, ohkay?"

Mago had nothing to say, so he said nothing. She flashed a brief smile that didn't reach her eyes.

At the beginning of the semester, Mago had expected Ms. Lugia Yzebel to be one of those automaton-ish teachers. The kind who always kept the stoic façade, rarely showing a more human side except to fuss and correct bad behavior. Not because of her age - Mago figured her to be somewhere around 30 years old - but because of her terse parlance.

But she'd turned out to be somewhat the opposite. Ms. Yzebel made it a point to know each student individually, and actually required bi-weekly 1-on-1 meetings with everyone. Nevertheless, she still wasn't exactly an emotional person, though. Mago would describe her as imperturbable. Her appearance fitted that description; her pitch black hair matched the color palette of her workday wardrobe. She always kept plain black raiment.

Personally, Mago didn't give a damn what kind of personality she had.

"You know, with your grades and disposition, you could make it in any of the academies on New Carthage. In the whole system, really. I hope you've been thinking seriously about attending one. You don't have to be on the frontlines to serve humanity."

"Somebody has to."

"It doesn't need to be you, though."

Mago sat forward in his seat and kept his voice even. "I make my own decisions."

"Fair enough," she responded, looking Mago in the eye.

Mago folded his homework into a tiny triangle, slid it into his pocket, and stood up from his desk, gazing out the window. The sky was showing the first signs of a thunderstorm. Rain began to hit the window, slivering downwards in crisscrossing trails. The parking lot down below was filled with cars edging their way off of campus. Far off on the other side of the parking lot was the bus lot. Two separate rows of silver colored buses filled the lot, sitting tight as students began spilling onto them, filling up the seats already. Bus #118 was second in line within the first row. Raeia was probably already onboard. They'd be leaving soon.

"If we're done here, I need to go, Ms. Yzebel," Mago told her.

She nodded once and walked around her desk back into her seat, already typing up something on her computer. Imperturbable.

The halls were already sparse. There was an occasional janitor doing some cleaning, and the occasional pocket of students standing around talking about whatever, and the occasional slam as someone shut their locker. But it was mostly empty. Mago could hear his footsteps on the hard marble floor. Usually, the school halls were active well after the schoolday ended. It was common to see different student organizations going around setting up posters and stuff all over the halls. The upper-level art students usually spent this time setting up different works in the showcases scattered around campus. But there was supposed to be some big concert going on today, though. Some Flip band was supposed to be coming to town, putting on a show or whatever. Mago figured that everyone was eager to get to it, which explained the desolate halls. Maybe. Or maybe today was just one of those days. Maybe. Mago shrugged.

Outside, it was already raining heavily. Thick, murky clouds roiled in the atmosphere above, twisting and churning up a storm. Fat rain drops pelted the ground, causing miniature explosions of water in a series of puddles spanning the lot. Mago carved a path through it, dipping and dodging between vehicles and smartly stepping around puddles. It was a slow, calculated process. Up ahead, he could see the bus lot. A series of parallel lines marked the ground, separating the standard parking lot from the bus lot. Loud engines began roaring as the busdrivers prepped to take off. In about a minute, they'd leave. Mago had no problem with walking home, but he did have a problem with being late for work, which he had to be at in about an hour.

Just as he was about to cross the street to the lot, one of the cars from the student parking area sped by. Mago jumped back just in time. Dirty water from a large puddle splashed up angrily and showered Mago's pants.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered beneath his breath. The car sped off of campus and disappeared from sight, not bothering to even slow down.

Mago didn't let it bother him and jogged his way over to bus #118. The driver opened the door, and Mago climbed on. It took off from the standstill before Mago even had a chance to scan for a seat, and he had to steady himself to keep from falling. The engine of the bus roared to life as it accelerated away from school. Mago slowly walked his way down the aisle, clothes wet, and managed to find his sister Raeia in one of the seats near the back. She had a smile on her face, like she was ready to talk a wall to death, as usual.

"So you almost get left behind, _and_ you're soaked. Definitely not a good day, I'm guessing?" She asked, eyeing Mago's ruined clothes.

"It's school - when is it ever a good day," Mago replied, combing a hand through his wet hair.

"You going to work again today?"

"Why?"

" _Cause._ You can drop me off at the concert when you head to work."

"You know mom only lets me use the car for work. Besides, I don't have the time. Walk to it."

"I'm not about to walk that far! And it's raining. Come on Mag..."

Mago felt a slight g-force push him back into his seat as the bus took off. In Mago's experience, most school buses were a rough ride. No matter how smooth the roads were, no matter how good the driver was. No matter the weather conditions. Nothing stopped a ride on a school bus from being at least somewhat rough. It'd been like that ever since primary school.

"It's just a stupid concert. By some cheesy band that nobody gives a damn about. So the answer is no," Mago told her.

"That's not true and you know it. Half the school's gonna be there! You owe me anyway," she told him.

He turned to face her and hardened his expression. "I'm _not_ taking you, Raeia."

"You're so... Ugh." Raeia said. She crossed her arms and stared out the window.

Mago shrugged - he didn't know what 'ugh' meant. He also didn't understand what was so important about a pointless concert. There were far bigger problems to worry about than some trashy Flip music. Like the War, for instance.

Displaced refugees from the outer-colonies were flooding the inner-colonies in droves. And naval dockyards across the UEG were undermanned and swelling with damaged vessels. Economic conditions across UNSC space was suffering as a result. The Covenant needed a complete cessation; humanity would be doomed without it. And Mago wasn't sure how he felt about Raeia being far away from the house well into the night. She was only fourteen. Mom would never allow it if she knew. But he _did_ owe Raeia a favor, and he didn't break his promises. Which meant that Mago was in a sort of ethical dilemma. Like the trolley problem Mr. Carson talked about in philosophy class today. So it wouldn't be as simple as reasoning his way out of this, like a mathematical formula.

But Mago was a man of his word.

"Alright. Damn. Whatever. I'll take you," Mago told her.

Raeia smiled and gave Mago a sort of awkward, sideways hug around his neck. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, attempting to fall within his thoughts for the rest of the ride home, but that was a pipe dream. Raeia was sitting next to him and excited. Her mouth would be running at FTL speed.

"So, how come you're not going to the show? You can just call in for a sick day, right? I know I wouldn't wanna be working there when it's storming like this."

"I'm not missing work if I can help it. Among other reasons."

"'Other reasons' like what? One missed day isn't going to hurt anything."

"We're starting production on some heavyweight stuff, and me and Anysus are on the team for it."

"You two are always tied together, I swear; like long-lost brothers or something. You knooww... My friend Llaeli likes him. But don't tell him I said that. Llaeli would kill me if she found out I told you, and then you told him... You're _not_ gonna tell him... Right?"

"Keep a lid on it, Raeia. I'm not in the mood."

"You're always 'not in the mood'. All you care about is stupid military stuff and sports. I don't know why..."

Mago sat forward in his seat, sighed, and looked out of the window, zoning out Raeia's voice.

Raindrops hit the window, blotting and morphing Mago's view of Downtown Pilvros. There wasn't too much to see. Pilvros was mostly a metropolis, with new businesses and neighborhoods and parks being developed almost constantly. Skyscrapers and buildings and monuments towered over all of the downtown portion of the city. On the street level, seemingly every single corner had some sort of small convenience store or restaurant. Hundreds of people scoured these streets and alleyways every day. The wealth could almost literally be seen. It was no surprise - major corporations had their fingers in all of New Carthage, including Mago's employer, Hannibal Weapon Systems. Pilvros itself had one of the most dynamic MagLev systems on the planet, which made navigating the gigantic maze both easier and more efficient. Despite that fact, the city wasn't quite the cynosure of New Carthage. That title was reserved for Old Lotlin. Mago didn't live within Pilvros, technically. He lived within one of the smaller housing communities on the outskirts.

The gigantic factory at which he worked was beyond the city limits of Pilvros as well.

* * *

The work conditions at the Pilvros HWS Factory were raw and dangerous.

Automated machinery ran the length of the facility, which was about 14 kilometers in length. Dancing blades hung low over assembly lines, and highly-powered laser equipment cut precise incisions in weapons and body armor. Deafening clangs rang out as bulky sheets of ceramic-titanium were melded together by massive clamps and robotic arms and superheated oxy-fuel torches. A discordant congregation of sounds generated the background noises. Combustible engines droned as workers used civilian M12s to maneuver throughout the gigantic factory, and constant beeps and alarms cried out in warning from various machines that were being operated. Although Hannibal Weapon Systems had invested in advanced air filtration and conditioning mechanisms, the factory was still hot as hell, and the factory managers required workers to keep themselves hydrated at all times. There were over 1 thousand men and women working in the factory.

Mago was among that number. He and Anysus were on the team developing the first set of HRUNTING Mark IIIs.

Mago had been impressed when he first looked at the whiteprints and layout of the HRUNTING, or Cyclops, for short. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen in person. The Cyclops would stand over 4 meters tall, which would tower over Mago. On top of numerous design implementations meant to keep the operator safe, the Cyclops had various hardpoints allowing for weapon installation, as well as being coated in superior composite armor plating. Mago's team was at work on about 50 of them, with several different design versions - one variant would ultimately go to work here in the factory itself, and another variant would be deployed into frontline combat zones. Some of them would go to use elsewhere.

"Dude, these things are gonna be the shit when we finish them," Anysus said to Mago.

They were sitting down on a set of crates in abeyance. Mago's t-shirt, the inside of his hardhat, and his work overalls were drenched in sweat, and he needed the break. The day had been filled with heavy lifting. He consumed the rest of his cold ham sandwich and took a swallow of water. "Yeah, so long as we actually get to use these things. Barkman's talking like she wants to move them down to Weapons Section. Pshht."

"Dude," Anysus said, swallowing down a chunk of food before taking another massive bite. "Barkman doesn't know what she's doing at all. We're the ones making the big stuff here; we need them way more than those assholes in Weapons. Not to mention we're the ones putting the things together..." Anysus said with a mouthful of food.

"You know how Barkman is," Mago stated.

A loud bang exploded from nearby, followed by numerous voices yelling out something unintelligible, and then a small series of whooping alarms. It sounded close, which meant an entirely different thing when inside such a large building. It sounded like it came from the Cyclops work zone. Loud and obnoxious explosions of sound were common in the factory. But after working in it for a certain amount of time, it became a sort of 6th sense to know when a sound means something wrong happened.

"Oh hell," Anysus said before finishing off his... Whatever it was he was eating. Mago couldn't tell what it was. Some type of meat or something.

"Come on." Mago took a final swallow of water from his canister, stuffed it into his bag, and headed off back towards the work area. Anysus followed behind.

They cut a path through large stacks of crates, containers, dormant work equipment, and passed by toolboxes and other miscellaneous objects. The factory had a fairly tedious layout. It's defining features were the two large 'roads' that ran the length of the factory, which allowed for fast movement up and down the building. Warthogs and mongooses and small personnel carriers constantly bounced up and down the roads. Mago jogged to the warthog he'd commandeered for the day, and Anysus hopped into the passenger seat. The vehicle roared to life.

Typically, driving an all-wheel-steering vehicle was simple to get accustomed to. But warthogs weren't exactly easy to drive. What made the warthog different was it's size and simply being somewhat awkward and clumsy to get the hang of. Mago didn't have that problem. He stepped in on the clutch and shifted into 1st gear, pulling out onto the road. The vehicle caught up to speed quickly, but Mago didn't need to go that far. He stomped the clutch, shifted to 2nd gear, and kept it there.

"What do you think's happening?" Anysus asked.

"I don't know. Whatever it was sounded loud. Really loud. One of the overhang clamps probably fell."

"God, I hope not - someone's going to have to get through the E-chamber to fix that. Remember what happened last time?"

Mago said nothing as he steered past a convoy of forklifts, remembering what'd happened to the last guy to go up there to fix one of the overhangs. The overhang clamps were gigantic mechanical cranes that 'hung' from the ceiling via electrical PCBs, large cable harnesses, rotary gears and the likes. The setup wasn't rudimentary, but it was by no means state-of-the-art. And the biggest problem was performing maintenance on them. Typically, repairs required someone to climb up one of the operator ladders and through a maintenance hatch, crawl through a series of tight aeration shafts, and then utilize the E-chamber to get to the anchoring cables for the clamps. The E-chamber was used to vent heat from the industrial oxy-fuel torches. Which meant that if you get caught in there at the wrong time, you risk getting waxed.

Mago pulled over out of the road, shifted into neutral and then pulled the parking break, shutting the vehicle off for the time being. Anysus was already disembarking.

Earlier that day, they'd cleared out a large space to use as the work area for the HRUNTINGs. 'Cleared out' meant using forklifts and raw manpower to displace containers and other sorts of cargo. Which had been immediately followed by a long, 2-hour affair of unloading semi-trailers and properly setting up the equipment, arranging the bare skeletons of the powered suits in specific order.

Mago caught up to Anysus and stood next to him, and they both surveyed the damage. Indeed, the overhang clamp had fallen out of its socket. A circle of workers formed up around the fallen piece of equipment. From what Mago could see, the damage didn't look bad. He joined the circle, listening to the intense discussion going on.

"I told Julio not to move it. Damn newbie."

"It was bound to come down at some point. They all do."

"We got lucky."

"You call this lucky? This is gonna cost us at least an hour of time."

The clamp hadn't hit anything, _luckily_. It was built out of a synthesis of ceramic-titanium, which gave it stalwart durability, so it wasn't damaged any. Mago looked up at the ceiling. He could see inside the shaft that it'd fallen out of. Thick, robust cables hung loosely from the open socket, twisting around like the arms of a squid as they dangled in the air.

"God damn it - we don't need this!" an approaching voice fussed.

The circle of workers parted as Chief Foreman Barkman and several others arrived on the scene. The guys who were with her had on the Weapons Section uniform. Damned ass-kissers.

Barkman stood in her signature posture, with one hand on a hip and the other hand holding a clipboard. Her hardhat looked a bit too big on her head, as always. To Mago, Barkman looked as if she belonged in a corporate office rather than a factory. She didn't really fit in. But her disposition made up for that.

"I want this mess sorted out, ASAP," Barkman said, her steel black eyes staring at the huge clamp. "Who's going up?"

Voices fell quiet when she asked that question. Mago glanced over at Anysus, and saw him look down at the floor, grasping at the back of his neck. Mago couldn't blame him - nobody wanted to volunteer for that job. Everyone else looked just as unenthusiastic as Ansus.

"I'll do it," Mago said, volunteering himself. Inwardly, he recognized that he would likely regret that decision, but someone had to go at it. "I'll take care of it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mago saw Anysus subtly shake his head.

Barkman shifted her gaze to Mago. "Good. The rest of you, get this thing prepped to go back up," she said. She tapped her pen on her clipboard, nodded once, turned on her heels and strutted off. The Weapons Section guys followed her. Ass-kissers.

The circle began to disperse as everyone went to handle the logistics of getting the clamp set up.

"Dude, did you like, lose your mind when I wasn't looking, or something?" Anysus asked.

Mago headed to the nearby equipment room. He'd need preparation himself before going up. That preparation consisted of an electrical/maintenance equipment carrier filled with an assortment of tools, a headlamp and flashlight, and some gloves. It wasn't much, which was a good thing, because the aeration shafts were too tight for heavy luggage. The equipment room was always a cramped, tight space. To a layperson, it would look like a junk room. But Mago found almost all the necessary tools and gear with relative ease. Anysus reached up onto an upper shelf and found a headlamp.

"Relax, kid. Don't worry about me," Mago told him as he took the headlamp, securing it around the base of his hardhat. He checked his transceiver, turning the volume up and making sure it was set to the proper frequency.

"That's what Douglas said. He almost got turned into a human _charcoal_ _,_ Mag."

"Tell me about it."

"Getting... Freaking... _fried_ , is all there is to it!"

Mago turned towards Anysus. "Relax, kid."

"What if you get waxed?"

Mago shrugged off the question, strapping on a pair of industrial gloves. They fit a bit loosely, but that side-effect was by no means detrimental.

Anysus sighed. "Alright dude, whatever. I'll do advisory. Wait 'till I get you on the radio before you start climbing."

Mago nodded and headed for the nearest operator ladder, which was about a Gravball court away.

Fixing the overhang clamp was a job that needed to be done. Pure and simple. Either Mago would get it done, or he wouldn't, and someone else will handle it. And so it made no sense to worry about getting waxed.

The operator ladder stretched upwards and into the ceiling. Mago couldn't remember how high the climb was - he hadn't been up there since his first month on the job. Was it 70 yards? Seventy yards sounded too generous, but the factory hadn't been designed around comfort. Whatever the distance was, Mago would be in for a long climb. Regardless, he shouldn't have too much difficulty in getting in and out. Working in the factory, adjoined with frequent strenuous exercising, had done an exemplary job of keeping Mago in excellent physical shape. Endurance was Mago's middle name.

He made it to the ladder and the transceiver rippled to life in perfect synchronicity. Anysus' voice came through.

"Ohkay, Mag? Where are you?"

Mago slipped the radio handset from his toolbelt and tabbed it on. "I'm at the ladder."

"Alright. Number 211, right?"

Mago crouched down and checked the tag wrapped around the right leg of the ladder. It had numbers and letters and other symbols printed all over it. The ID was MOL-211.

"Yes, 211."

"Ohkay, umm... Hang on... This map is so confusing... Uh, I think -"

Mago put the handset right up to his mouth. "Get your head on straight, Anysus. If you can't read the duct plans, then find someone who can handle the job. This is serious."

"I got it, I got it. When you get up there, you're going to be at a 6-way intersection. Find the shaft labeled LX-005, and take it all the way to its end. In the meantime, we're gonna be getting this thing set to go up."

Mago clipped the handset back onto his belt, strapped the tool carrier onto his back, and headed up the ladder.

Industrial gloves were notorious for being somewhat clumsy. But they typically had good grip on them. It helped out substantially, because the ladder itself was built strictly for the practical purpose of getting up and down. The rungs were small enough to the point where Mago could easily wrap his entire hands around them and then some. Another side-effect was the tool carrier strapped to Mago's back, which was a deadweight and added an extra layer of effort. It wasn't anything Mago couldn't handle. Someone without his level of upper body strength might find it problematic, however.

He took a brief pause about 85% of the way up. The only other time he'd come up here had been late into the night, after the factory had shut down for the day. He hadn't seen the view during the day, when the action was taking place. Assembly lines carrying sheets of titanium and vehicles zigzagged back and forth across the ground level. Stacks of containers stood tall, like short buildings almost, and cut up the length of the factory in small sections. Like neighborhood blocks. Cranes, both manual and automated, arced high into the air. Massive pieces of machinery towered like living giants. It was all a new sight to Mago. It looked like harmonious disorder, if that even made sense. He wasn't afraid of heights, but Mago didn't bother to look directly down.

He finished the rest of the ladder and got to the hatch, which was sealed tight. There was a single handle, about the length of a ruler, which needed to be turned to the left. Mago tried to twist it, but it didn't budge at all. Damn. He renewed his effort, but the handle wouldn't move. With extreme care, Mago slipped his right leg through the ladder, sitting on the 2nd to last rung. The position made it easier to use both of his hands. Taking a deep breath, Mago clasped both hands around it and put real muscle into it.

Finally it gave way, sliding out of position fairly easily once it started moving.

Mago took a deep breath, then pulled himself into the ventilation network.

'Maze' was the first word that popped into Mago's head. Shortly followed by 'cramped'. He thumbed on the headlight wrapped around his hardhat, illuminating everything in a ghostly white aura. Just like Anysus had told him, Mago was looking at a handful of different vent shafts traveling out in all directions. Each one could potentially lead him to his destination. Or to some place else entirely. Luckily, Mago had Anysus' directions to go off of.

Anysus had said to take the one labeled LX-005. Tightly packed into a ball, Mago awkwardly checked each shaft individually until he made certain of which one was the right way to go.

Moving around was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Mago had to do a clumsy, semi-belly crawl, and the tool carrier on his back felt heavier than it had on the ladder. He progressed carefully, making sure to not waste energy needlessly. There was still a ways to go.

"Hey, what's your status?" Anysus' voice cut in on the radio.

It took Mago a few seconds to shift about so that he could grab the transceiver handset. "I'm in LX-005. Where do I go next? Don't get me lost up here."

"Ohkay, you're going to come to a split. Umm, take the one on the left. That one's gonna run you into the E-chamber,"

"Yeah."

Mago opted to keep the small walkie-talkie in his hand. The easier he could reach Anysus, the better.

He arrived at the next intersection after about 5 minutes. The further he crawled through the ducts and shafts, the darker it got. The closer he got the the E-chamber, the hotter it got. If he'd been able to, Mago would've pulled off his undershirt. Such a move was impossible in the current situation.

The path up ahead was blocked off by a vent. Four large bolts were tied into place at all corners. Big hex-capped bolts. Mago shimmied the toolbag from his back and set it a few inches away from his face. Pliers, wrenches, screwdrivers, power drills and other tools filled it. He took out a power-wrench and changed the head on it to match the screws on the vent.

Mago collected all 4 screws and slid them into a pocket on the toolkit, and then pried the vent away. It came out of position smoothly. He laid it down flat and re-secured the toolkit onto his back. The radio lit up.

"Mago, we got the clamp prepped. We have about 30 minutes until the E-chamber recycles, so you need to hurry up. The last shaft is going to be on the far end of the chamber, to your left, labeled LX-015."

Thirty minutes. It would have made more sense to just let the recycle process take place before making repairs, but the chamber would be too hot to access for at least an hour afterwards.

Mago double-timed his way into the E-chamber, where there was a noticeable jump in temperature. The chamber itself was much larger in space than the rest of the ventilation shafts though, and the extra room was a welcome addition. Mago could move around much faster. A luminous series of iridescent bulbs lined the ceiling of the chamber, flickering in a steady pattern. Although Mago had his own headlamp, the supporting light was invaluable. Being able to clearly identify minute details was critical in re-attaching the clamp.

Sweat drenched his clothing and he was breathing heavily by the time he got to LX-015. Luckily, this shaft didn't have a vent blocking it. It stretched about 15 meters ahead of Mago, where it opened up perpendicular to a very spacious hallway designed to allow the clamp to move back and forth along the length of the factory itself. The clamps shot up and down these halls all over the factory, and had designated areas allowing for them to be put to use, like this one in particular. A gaping hole fed in both light and sound from down below in the factory itself. It hadn't been closed yet because the 'doorways' were programmed to only shut once the clamp was secured back into the hall. Which made sense, Mago figured, because otherwise, the cables would be cut, which would be bad for business.

Mago made it to the hall and shut off his headlamp. The air here was distinctly cooler than inside the E-chamber; it felt liberating. He glanced to his left and right, looking as far down as he could see. There was complete darkness on either side - no other clamps were in use - which seemed right. In the event that one of the clamps fell, all others that operated on the same hall had to be deactivated until repairs were complete. It was some type of safety rule or something.

The urge to look straight down below was overpowering as Mago got to the edge of the hole. A large group of workers were huddled up surrounding the clamp itself, and they all looked like tiny cartha-bugs or ants. The loose cabling was secured tightly to the clamp, unlike it'd been earlier.

One of the workers in particular was busy waving his hand back and forth. Mago squinted and recognized the mahogany-colored face of Anysus.

"Dude," Anysus' voice cut in on the radio.

Mago took a step back and looked up at the dozens of sockets and junctions that fed the cables into the clamp. They were all linked to a square electrical panel that was larger than the size of the clamp itself in circumference. That was a good thing, because it meant that Mago didn't have to lean out over the hole to work on it. He took out his transceiver. "Yo, what am I looking for here?"

"There should be a... You see a red cable? Wait, hold on. Damn, I'm looking at the wrong thing."

Mago didn't have time to be piecing together vague details. "Damn it, you need to be more specific. Tell me _exactly_ what to do, and spare no detail."

Mago clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt and listened with rapt attention to Anysus' instructions, mentally recording every step whilst getting to work at the same time.

He stripped off the toolkit and found a small screwdriver, reaching upwards to pry off a hatch on the side of the panel. There were flashing buttons and lights, a small keypad, and several other tiny instruments. Anysus had said to turn the power off on the thing first, so Mago punched a button and held it down for 5 seconds. The flashing buttons died immediately. Placing the screwdriver back into the toolkit, Mago took out another device shaped like a power-drill, except smaller, like a tiny handgun. It was called a shifter. Below the small keypad was a rectangular box locked into place tightly.

Using the handheld shifter, Mago released the small box from the panel. He deftly caught it in his hand and slid it into his back pocket. The box was essentially a power unit. Normally, they had lifetimes that varied somewhere between 8-12 months, depending on the amount of usage they received. When they die out, they could either be replaced or reset, but resetting them took a lot of time. Someone was supposed to go up here and check on this sort of thing occasionally to prevent the clamps from falling, but that didn't solve the problem at all. Mago could have reset the box, but he didn't have the time.

The toolkit had a few spare power units in it, and Mago took one.

He spent the next few minutes getting it put into place and resetting the panel and doing other various actions to make sure everything was primed and ready for usage.

Mago set the transceiver to speaker mode and said, "Alright Anysus, send it up."

About thirty seconds later, a droning sound drowned out all noise. The cables linked to the panel began to retract into their housing unit above the ceiling of the hall. Glancing down below, Mago could see the clamp moving upwards at a slow pace. Almost _too_ slow. He checked his wrist-chronometer and saw that he was down to roughly 4 minutes before the E-chamber recycled. He couldn't leave until the clamp was secured tightly, so that he could reset the panel one last time; he spent the meantime making sure that all of his supplies were set to go. At this point, the job was done. All he needed to do was get out.

After what felt like an eternity, the clamp finally snapped home. A resounding vibration lightly shook the walls and floor around Mago. He switched his headlamp back on, quickly reset the power for the last time, and double-checked to make sure the signal light lit up like it was supposed to. Satisfied with the results, he screwed the hatch back onto the panel and made way for the E-chamber.

The bulbs that ran along the ceiling of the chamber were flashing erratically and pulsating a scarlet red, signifying the imminent recycle. Mago didn't bother to check his watch. Doubt began to seep into Mago's mind little by little, and sweat started pouring down his head. He pulled himself along the chamber as fast as he could, feeling his arm muscles begin to burn from demanding use. His heart drummed incessantly at a rapid pace. From the transceiver on his belt, Mago could hear the voice of Anysus, but he ignored it. The only thought on his mind was to get out, ASAP.

Mago began to hear a warning alarm wail obnoxiously in both ears just as he got to the exit shaft. He took a brief moment to glance over his shoulder at the massive grate on the far end of the chamber. The walls beyond it were beginning to glow an angry red. The sound of the alarm was washed out by an overriding _whooshing_ noise. Which meant that the chamber was starting its recycling process. _Damn._


	3. Chapter 2

**-Chapter II-**

* * *

 **1255 Hours New Carthage - Eastern Standard Time**

 **4 May 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Alcaues Lycurgus System, _Pilvros City,_ planet New Carthage**

 **Central Pilvros Secondary School**

* * *

Central Pilvros Secondary was among the top performing schools in Pilvros City and the surrounding region. High academic success and parent involvement formed the backbone of its eminence. A high quality grav-ball team was also a part of the school's accolades. Central Pilvros did have a competitive rival, however. That rival was the Old Lotlin Academy of Arts and Science. For years past, the two schools shared a friendly but challenging rivalry with one another. The competitive spirit had served as a boost to both schools' overall performance, and had indirectly encouraged other schools to step their game up. Some of the best teachers and intellectuals on the planet had migrated to the neighboring cities, putting their expertise to work in preparing the next generation for carrying the torch in the single most critical period of human history. History had become an essential field of inquiry over the course of the War. Central Pilvros had several course branches for its History Department. Topics ranged from the History and Philosophy of Science, all the way to the History of Political Thought and Theory.

Mago was in a Military History class now. He sat on the far left of the room, thumbing through his datapad to reach the book they were studying this week. Using a datapad had advantages over going to the library to find a hard copy. After a few seconds of scrolling through pages and lists, he came across _A Soldier's Tale: Rainforest Wars._ It took him another second to get to the right chapter. Next to his datapad was a piece of paper with instructions on it. A lot of instructions. He picked it up and glanced through it a bit, shrugged, and slid it beneath his datapad.

The teacher, Mr. Valinsky, rapped his knuckles on his desk three times. The noise in the classroom simmered, and Mago opened his ears. "I'm going to assign you all partners for this next assignment. Once you square away who's doing what, you can head to lunch."

Of course, everyone was hoping they'd get paired up with their buddies. Mago didn't have any buddies in this class - Anysus was in 2nd Level Kinematics during this block, which was a prerequisite for some Quantum Mechanics class he'd never get the chance to take. One by one, students dipped out the room to head to the cafeteria as Valinsky read off pairings. Mago was extremely hungry today as a result of skipping breakfast. Normally, if he got to school on time, he could grab something to eat in the cafeteria. He almost always bought himself a somewhat unhealthy meal of 3 donuts and some lemonade. It usually beat the stuff they had on the regular menu. Today was different, though. Today, he was hungry as hell.

 _Damn it._

"Diona, you're pairing with Mago," Valinsky said over the noise in the room.

"Awh, him?... But he's so... Quiet," Diona said to Valinsky.

"He's smart. Which is more than I can say for some of you," Mr. Valinsky replied, eyeing some of the students.

Mago stretched his leg out and kicked back the seat next to him, pushing it out for Diona - an open invitation. He wasn't about to get up and move to her side of the classroom.

Diona sidestepped her way between desks and made it over to Mago, standing in front of his desk, looking at him. In a slow manner, Mago met her gaze and gave a slight smirk that didn't reach his eyes. He had to be honest with himself, Diona was really pretty. She had average height, but her dark brown, wavy hair flowed over her shoulders. A small spot rested just beneath her left eye, right beside her small nose. She looked down at him with slightly frowned blue eyes.

Instead of saying anything, Mago simply gestured to the open seat with a slight nod of his head.

Diona took the seat, placing her belongings beneath the desk. "So... I guess we just... Do this thing...?"

Mago took out his instruction sheet and glanced at it once again. It wanted them to run through a series of topics, answering questions about each, all the while discussing the significance of the events with one another. "I'll do the first half, you do the second half. We'll talk about it afterwards," he told her.

"Who put you in charge?"

That caught Mago off guard. He looked at her closely. Diona wasn't entirely a stranger to him - he'd taken some classes with her before. But he'd never talked to her in a one on one setting. She looked back at him with that slight frown."Well, you got a better idea?"

"Yes. I do. We do it together like we're supposed to."

"Pshht. It doesn't matter how we get it done, so long as we finish."

"But it's better if we go through it together from the start."

"That's cool and all, but we'll do it my way. Now _please_ , let's go to lunch."

"Whatever."

Mago gestured with his hand. "After you."

"Yeah," Diona got up and headed out the classroom, with Mago following.

He examined her outfit. She was dressed in a classic black dress that ended right beneath her knees, with long white socks and sneakers on. Because of the weather, she also had on a lightweight dark grey jacket. Diona had on a lot of stuff, but overall, her accoutrements fit nicely.

The hallway was long, crowded, and lined with large UNSC recruitment posters. Propaganda had been in usage all throughout human history - from the great World Wars on Earth, all the way to the Outer Colony Insurrection. But the propaganda for this war was different. This whole war was different. Even though it effected everyone, people didn't like to talk about it in normal conversation. It typically made the mood depressing. Like how Sargassian refugees - natives of Sargasso - were still coming in waves. The Kroedisians from Kroedis II as well. Those types of population influxes tended to have negative effects, like damaging economic stability. And an increase in the crime rate. The War was the disease that was killing humanity slowly. Few people realized it, but the UNSC wasn't looking for heroes. It was looking for time. It was looking for saviors.

And so, recruitment stations had been propped up all across UEG colonies. The first thing Mago saw when he entered the cafeteria was the recruitment station sitting in the center of the giant room. On a normal day, the line at it usually hovered around 3-5 people at a time. However, it could get much longer, depending on the day. A couple years back, when Colonel Menteith gave his famous speech at the last stand on Actium, the recruitment centers all across New Carthage had been overcrowded for an entire fortnight. The line here in the cafeteria had been the longest that Mago had ever seen it.

But today was a normal day. Mago counted 5 students at the station.

After getting himself a tray and something cold to drink, Mago found a spot near the back corner of the room. He always went for the seats that gave him as much view of the room as possible. The meal today was seared navorca steak, served with a side of aqua-steamed vegetables, sauteed zucchini, and a small bowl of classic Martian-style ramen. Mago had sneaked himself a 2nd helping of all this. He dug in, jumping from one dish to the other.

"You're like a machine," an even voice said. Mago took a moment to wipe his mouth and look up, seeing Diona standing on the other side of the table. She took a seat right across from Mago.

Mago didn't saying anything, and instead shrugged and took a swig of lemonade. " _Ahh._ "

He looked past Diona and saw Anysus heading towards the table. Anysus was carrying a tray in one hand, and a small stack of notebooks in the other. Were it not for the books, nobody would ever guess that Anysus was such a nerd. Even with the books, it was hard to imagine that Anysus was sort of a creative genius.

"Queen Diona. Surprise seeing you eating way out here with Mago. You look nice... As usual," Anysus said as he took a set next to Diona, before turning his gaze over to Mago. "Jesus Christ dude. Did you, like, forget what today is? Too much food and you're gonna puke that stuff back out."

Mago had deft hands when it came to small utensils. He twirled his knife around before cutting a rather large slice of the navorca steak. He munched it down. "No, not really, I didn't forget. I'll be fine," he said with a mouthful of food.

Diona looked back and forth between Mago and Anysus, the slight frown on her face dissipating into an inquisitive look. Like she was waiting for an explanation. Both Mago and Anysus were busy mowing down on lunch, though.

"Umm... Today? What's special about today?" She finally asked.

"Well," Anysus started, chewing on a mouthful of ramen. "You know Mago and I signed up for the Marines. Today's our qualification test to see if we have what it takes to survive boot camp. Once we pass that, we'll be Marine recruits."

"Really?"

"Yep. Kinda like a rite of passage."

"You know, there are other divisions of the UNSC. Like HIGHCOM, or Intelligence, or Logistical Management. You don't have to join the Armed Forces division. That's so dangerous," Diona said with a slight frown on her face, eating a modest forkful of zucchini.

Mago wiped his mouth. "To be honest, it's probably more dangerous to _not_ join the Armed Forces. Fact is that the UNSCDF needs as many people as it can get to fight the Covenant, because the Covenant's definitely going to send as many of their troops to hit us as they possible can," Mago said. "Nobody wants to admit it, but New Carthage might not be here a few years from now. That scares me into enlisting."

"True that," Anysus said. He leaned over to Diona. "Mag's like a slow book. Takes a bit of time before you start getting to the cool part, but it's there. He actually just got a promotion at work not too long ago for raw badassery."

Before Diona could reply, a group of girls approached the table. About 7 of them. They sort of swarmed the table.

"Wow, Diona, we've been all over the cafeteria looking for you. Why're you sitting here?" One of them asked, her wide eyes darting around the table.

"Mago here is my partner for this history project. I was hoping to talk to him about it..."

Without really waiting for Diona to finish, the entire crew pulled up chairs and took seats at the table. It wasn't that big of a table. It was round and moderately sized, meant for about 5 people at max to be realistic. With Diona's posse taking up residence here, it made the whole table cramped and tight. Mago had only finished about half his meal, but with girls sitting tightly on either side of him, it made eating a lot more difficult. All he could smell was perfume.

"So tell us about your new friends here," the girl next to Anysus said, looking at him and pressing her shoulder into his.

Anysus spoke up. "Well, it's like this. See, me and Mago are like slow books, right. It takes a bit of time before you start getting to the cool part, but it's definitely there."

Diona rolled her eyes, but all the rest of the girls smiled. Mago sighed.

* * *

 **2342 Hours NC-EST**

 **4 May 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Alcaeus Lycurgus System, _Pilvros_ _City,_ planet New Carthage**

 **West Side Pilvros City, Market District**

* * *

Mago stood beneath a milky-white street light, bathed in a spectral glow as he waited for the traffic signal to turn red. It was a chilly night, and the wind blew with a modicum of force, just enough to displace litter and force Mago to cover his head with a trapper hat. The night time only served to amplify the cold air, if only a little. Cool and damp weather was common here in Pilvros City, and it often brought about eerie night time scenes, such as this one. Mago was the only person out and about on foot, as far as he could tell, except for the occasional homeless nomad. Everything else looked still.

He was on the West Side, which was technically the dangerous side of the city - at least, during night time. Danger was a relative term. To be alive was dangerous. Mago was afraid of many things, but petty crime wasn't among them.

Overhead, the traffic light still shone green, which in turn led to the walk signal urging Mago to stay put. Instead, he glanced in both directions. Seeing no traffic on either side, he strutted across the street.

Normally, Mago would be at home around this time. The only problem was that today had been a protracted, intensive exercise day for the Pre-Enlistment Training Qualification Program, or PETQP for short. The PETQP was a program that stretched all the way back to the earliest days of New Carthage. Originally, it was meant to prepare civilians for the extreme training regimes of the planetary defense force, which was basically the UNSC Army. Anyone who wanted to be in the PDF had to go through PETQP. As of 2525, however, the program was extended to include enlistment for all UNSC military branches.

For four days out of every week, aspiring UNSC recruits had to conduct physical training for several hours. After three months in the program, the recruits have to undergo a qualification test. If you pass, then you're given the green light for shipping off to a UCMB.

Mago's qualification test had been today, which explained why he was just now heading home.

He'd passed with ease. And so had Anysus.

Even now, as he paced down a long and empty sidewalk, Mago couldn't help but feel a sense of true pride. This week had been pretty good to him. A few days prior, Chief Foreman Barkman had given him a promotion, although Mago was preparing to leave for the UNSC. He'd taken his first step in his military career. Now, it was only a matter of time before he left for UCMB Echo Sordei. A boot camp facility located on Reach itself. All that was left now was for him to graduate from secondary school.

"Finally," Mago whispered to himself, watching his breath dissipate in the air.

Up ahead at the next street corner was a small convenience store, its signs glowing brilliantly in the darkness. It was a small business, connected to several others which formed one large building. Music was playing from somewhere inside of it, and Mago could hear voices from within. It must be open. The sign above the doorway read Opulence.

Odd name for a small corner store.

Mago stepped through the doorway inside and was greeted with warm air, to which he took off his hat and combed a hand through his thick black hair.

There were only two occupants inside. The guy in the back far corner of the store, stocking shelves. He was an older guy. Middle aged. Cleanly dressed uniformed. Mago assumed that he was probably the store owner. And the other person was the girl behind the counter. She wasn't an older person - Mago guessed her age to be somewhere around 18. The uniform didn't look as pristine on her as it did the store owner, and her nametag was slightly crooked. She looked familiar, but Mago couldn't place her.

"Welcome to Opulence," she said with a high-pitched voice.

"Yeah," Mago replied as he headed for the refrigerated section. He was dying of thirst. He wasn't sure how legitimate it was, but he'd heard that thirst was the earliest sign of dehydration. And almost every military book he'd read had been sure to point out that dehydration was a soldier's worst enemy.

Mago wasn't a soldier, but he needed to stay hydrated.

Up in the nearby corner of the ceiling hung a COM screen featuring an all-news channel. It caught Mago's attention as he passed by. The headlines read _'Despite heroism from the UNSCs finest, Skopje falls to Covenant invasion_ '. Mago had heard of Skopje. It was a fairly wealthy inner-colony, home to a relatively small population. He couldn't believe it'd been hit by the Covenant.

"Damn," he whispered. Despite being used to bad news, a wave of fear and nausea still ran through him.

The news reporter began going over the details. "...Force of ODSTs fought off waves of Covenant for a prolonged period of time, before eventually being overrun. However, many brave servicemen and women managed to pull out before Skopje was glassed. Among those still living, and those who lost their lives, the UNSC Command is considering bestowing upon these courageous warriors the Silver Star..."

"Damn..." Mago said beneath his breath, grabbing an energy drink from the refrigerator.

ODSTs. The elite Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Legend and rumor swirled around the name itself. ODST was a title that inspired hope in even the darkest of situations. Prior to the breakout of the War, ODSTs had spent their time wiping out key insurrectionist cells and preventing attacks against UNSC citizens. Insurrectionist activity had been significant in those days. After the breakout the of War, the ODSTs had only managed to add to their renown. Countless battles had been carried by ODSTs. Most of the UNSCs victories were owed to them. There was no doubt that they'd put up a fierce fight at Skopje. Even still, the ODSTs could only do so much. And what they were capable of doing was, in stark truth, not enough.

But Skopje was an inner-colony. A prominent one at that, with a garrisoned Army PDF. And it had a strong economy, unlike most worlds still held by the UNSC. The frontlines were edging ever closer to Earth, whether or not anyone wanted to admit it. It'd take more than heroism to win. Total warfare was right around the corner. Mago had read books about total warfare. It wasn't pretty.

Hope only ran so far. At some point, it drains entirely. And all that's left at that point is desperation and agony.

Mago walked to the counter and dug around in his pockets, finding a pile of credits. He had about 3.14 cR. He gave her all of it.

"Keep the change."

He turned to make his way out the store.

"Hey... You're Mago, right?"

Mago turned to face her again and looked at her closely. She'd looked familiar. Pitch black hair twisted into dreadlocks, hazel eyes, dark caramel skin. She was really attractive. Mago took a quick glance at her nametag, and then he remembered her.

"Oh! Chloris! You were in calculus class, back in freshman year. Right?"

She smiled. "Yep, that's me. Didn't think you'd remember me for a second there. That calculus class was so hard. Well, not for you, I remember."

Memories came flooding into Mago's head. Calculus class that year had been killer on almost everyone in it, except for a handful of people. Mago was one of those people. But Chloris was smart herself. It'd been so long.

"That's seems like so long ago. Won't be long before we're out in the real world, y'know?" Chloris said.

"Yeah." _We're already in the real world, and it ain't pretty,_ he wanted to say.

There was a brief, slightly awkward pause. Mago pointed his thumb towards the door, "I'd love to talk, but I really need to get home."

"If you see me at school then don't be a stranger - say 'hey'."

Mago nodded once and headed back out the store, snuggling his trapper hat back on. If he saw Chloris at school next week, then he would not be a stranger.

But Mago hadn't entirely forgotten Chloris, though. He saw her around school on occasion, but it was rare. She was still as pretty as she'd been back then. It was a rare occurrence for Mago to _like_ a girl, but she'd been one. As a rule, Mago always kept it solo. Being accountable only to himself was how he liked it, and the responsibility was enough on its own. He didn't need nor want to worry about anyone else like that, no matter how he felt about her. Attachments bring about the possibility of _detachments,_ and detachments are painful, no matter how small.

Freshman year had been quite a learning experience, though. Especially with the grades and classes. However, Mago had always kept a level head on his shoulders. Learning the material had always been priority number one. All the other BS that came with school, like social circles and school functions had always been secondary to Mago. He _did_ try to make the Gravball games, though. The closest he'd gotten to being a cog in the school clockwork had been in sophomore year, when the coaches wanted him to tryout for the Gravball team after watching him play a few rounds in P.E. Mago had almost taken them up on the offer. Almost.

Mago took a swallow of his energy drink as he checked the time on his wrist-chronometer. The drink tasted like a diet, or something. Not as sweet as Mago had predicted. But that was a good thing. It felt refreshing to finally get something in his stomach, even if that wasn't exactly food. He slid the drink into his backpack. Soon, he'd be at home. It was almost midnight, so Raeia and mom had probably stuck all the leftovers from dinner in the fridge. Mago would probably just cook himself something. He'd hit the grocery store the other day, so there should definitely be something to cook.

He'd cook something in the kitchen, then. Mom was probably sleep. Raeia was still up though, certainly. She'd probably want some.

 _Pssht. Screw that. I haven't eaten anything today since lunch, except for dirt._

There was a very faint scuffle from behind. Mago turned around immediately.

There was nothing to see. A pair of tall trees protruded from the sidewalk, swaying from side to side lightly. They twisted around each other near the ground, gradually splitting apart the higher they got.

Almost resembling a... Like a... slingshot. Strange.

The streetlights shined proudly, stretching down the length of the road on both sides. Mago was certain that he'd heard _something._ The wrist-chronometer flashed a deep red, urging him to make his way home ASAP. There was a button on the side of it that switched the face of the chronometer, exchanging time for a real-time 2-dimensional map of the area, giving Mago an unobstructed view from above. A tiny green arrow winked green in the center of it, highlighting his current position. He still had a ways to go. He thumbed the button a second time, and the map flashed off of the chronometer, once again being replaced by a clock.

"Pssht. Weird," he muttered.

After about another hour of walking, Mago finally made it back home.

And home wasn't much, but it was still home. Apartment complex 17.

From the outside, the complex looked old and worn. But so did almost every other housing community in the lower-class part of New Carthage. It was a crowded place that hadn't had proper maintenance in a very long time. Most of the work had to be done by the residents themselves. Like Mago. Which was the reason why he was so good at repairing things. There weren't too many people living in AC-17 who could do the work. Most of the other residents were either elderly, or too young. Aside from Mago, there were about a handful of others. They had to do anything from fixing the water hydraulics systems, to maintaining the upkeep for the power generators outback. Even simple yard work.

But after a lifetime of living in poverty, Mago had grown accustomed to it. There wasn't much better than this in the entirety of the continent. Only a few small sections of the population could afford to live in the good neighborhoods. Those people tended to be the wealthy corporate business owners and corrupt politicians and other elites, and they kept to themselves.

He took the long flight of stairs up to his apartment - 17A9. He knocked on the door three times. A few moments later, it opened. Raeia was standing there in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that Mago recognized as his own.

"Well... How'd it go? You did go to the qualification thing today, right? Did you pass? You look tired."

Mago slipped past her, taking off his trapper hat and unzipping his jacket. "Yeah, I passed it," he said. He tossed his jacket onto the backrest of the couch in the living room and collapsed onto it. Raeia sat down next to him, her eyes focused on the old-model television that sat across from the couch.

"Well, that's good. I guess... Did Anysus make it, too?"

"The hell are you watching?" Mago asked, instead of answering her question.

"I don't know. Some new cartoon that premiered today. I've been bored out of my mind," Raeia said. She put her feet up on the coffee table. "You know, mom finally spent her day off actually resting for once, so we didn't really go anywhere. I'm glad she stayed at home. She works too hard."

At that, Mago felt his stomach give an angry growl. Jeez, he was hungry enough to eat raw fish. Like how those weirdos on Titan do it.

"I gotta eat something," Mago said as he stood up, heading for the kitchen with his energy drink in hand.

* * *

 **1502 Hours R-CST**

 **4 May 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, _New Alexandria,_ planet Reach**

 **Residential Housing Community A-2**

* * *

Jane Shepard was breathing heavily as she slowed down to a fast walking pace. She checked her chronometer.

05:17

She'd gotten faster today, but not by much.

The Ressikke Park was as clean as the housing community it resided in, which was one of the most impressive on Reach. It was located in the heart of RHC A-2; a massive combination of man-made ingenuity and natural formation. Low, grassy hills pockmarked its landscape, populated by a moderate amount of lush trees and bushes and vegetation. A jogging track surrounded the perimeter of Ressikke, with paved walkways carving the park's interior into sections. Sports zones were scattered across it, from a large public gravball chamber on the far west side, to a series of basketball courts on the eastern corridor. People used the park for a wide variety of reasons, from walking pets to giving political speeches. Ressikke had been designed by top class architects for New Alexandria's wealthier residents of A-grade communities. The complex terrain was its main attraction for Jane, however; she made good use of it in running.

At the center of the park was a rest area - a small building with water fountains on the outside of it and restrooms inside of it. Jane made for the water fountains. She heard footsteps approaching from behind as she took a measured swig. She wiped her mouth and turned around to see a guy she recognized from school. He was at least a full head taller than Jane, with brown hair cut into a mohawk and a soft face. Jane recognized him but didn't remember his name.

"Hey," he said.

"Hello."

"Your name's... Jane? Right? You go to the magnet academy?" He asked.

"Yeah, that's me. Jane. Jane Shepard."

"I thought I recognized you. I think you're in the same PE class as me... I'm Ned, by the way."

Jane could tell that Ned must spend quite some time at the park and in the gym. He was not only tall, but massive as well, and had a sort of boyish handsomeness. Jane wouldn't be surprised if he played on the grav-ball team at school. She didn't say anything, and waited to see what he would do.

"So," Ned started. He took a drink from the water fountain. "You come to Ressikke a lot?"

"I do."

"Yeah, we come down here sometimes for Grav-ball practice. Nice place and all that..." He glanced at Jane, looking her in the eye. "Don't talk much do you?"

"I don't."

"Well, that's cool," he said, running a hand along his mohawk. "I'll see you around, I guess."

"Ohkay. Bye, Ned."

Jane watched Ned as he left. As he jogged off, Jane spotted the insignia stitched onto the back of his shirt. It was the insignia of the UNSC Marines. The golden diamond carved into it meant that the shirt was an authentic one that couldn't be bought in stores. So either Ned had gotten the shirt from someone he knew in the military, or he'd signed up to go into the Marines. Judging by his size, she figured that it was the latter. Jane figured that he was ohkay. Seemed as much. He had to be, if he was going into the Marines.

Jane spun around and headed for her house, pondering over her results. About a month ago, the fastest she could complete a 2 kilometer run was just above 6 minutes. So she had made progress. But she was determined to get better before shipping off to the Naval Officers Academy. Determined to prove that she has what it takes to be an officer, just like her parents. Physical exercise had been her main dig over the past year, preparing herself as best she could for a career serving the UNSC and protecting humanity. It was her duty to serve mankind. Now so more than ever, with the war against the Covenant.

Ressikke park was about a mile and a half from where she lived. Jane walked the distance in pensive silence, still breathing somewhat heavily from her exercise.

By the time she got home, the time on Jane's chronometer read 1600 on the spot.

A long driveway led up to the house, and it was a fairly large edifice. A 9 ft. tall gate rounded the outer perimeter of the house. Thick bushes ran the length of the gate along the inside, obscuring view from outside. Jane placed the palm of her hand on a scanner just outside the front gate. A few seconds later, the gate split apart and opened inwards to a well-trimmed yard, shaded with lush trees. The driveway carved through the huge lawn neatly, disappearing within a garage off to the right.

As a result of Jane's parents both being distinguished officers in the UNSC, it was common occurrence for the family to move from place to place, station to station. As it now stood, this was the longest she'd lived in one single location, being here in New Alexandria for 5 months at this point. Jane had never truly had a place to call home, but if things stagnate for a protracted length of time, then this place might become home. Most of her life had been spent aboard space stations and starships. Living in a large, comfortable home on solid ground was welcome - but it wasn't easy to adapt to.

She scanned her hand once again at the front door, and it unlocked about a moment later. Cool air greeted her as she opened the door, feather light on her skin and rousing a sigh out of her.

"Five seventeen..." Jane whispered as she shut the door and headed for her room.

The interior of the house seemed even larger than it appeared from the outside. But it was quiet on the inside, as usual, and Jane enjoyed the peace. Mom wouldn't get home until late into the night. And dad was up on Anchor 9. She headed up the stairs to her room.

As was commonplace for Jane's rooms, she had no decoration and had almost no personal effects. The only thing of note in the room was her small collection of model starships. It was a hobby born out of a strange story. When Jane was a young kid, her family had often come across exotic thrift stores located on space stations scattered across UEG territory. That'd been a long time ago, back before the War had really gotten bad. One day, her mom had bought one for her after a long round of pleading. Ever since then, Jane had been collecting them. Out of all 17 of them, her favorite was a Halberd-class destroyer she'd built along with help from her dad many years ago. One of the few times she could remember spending time with him.

She briefly paused at the single mirror connected to her dresser. Short, messy, deep red hair sat atop her head, just long enough for small bangs to dance right above her brows. Fiery amber eyes stared back at her with a steely gaze. But she had an athletic build for an 18-year old, honed over the course of months that'd been filled with vigorous physical activity. The time she'd spent traveling in starships and in cryostasis gave her skin a pallid tone, however. Getting used to vehement physical exertion underneath a star was still a problem for her.

Jane kicked off her shoes in the corner, peeled off her socks and tossed them into her laundry hamper, collapsed on the bed and reached for her datapad, exhausted from the day's activities. There wasn't anything critically important to see on the news feed, either local or across the UEG. A few naval skirmishes had cropped up, but the Covenant wasn't launching any major offensives, aside from the fall of Skopje. Although the War had hit a sort of dry spot, its effects were still reverberating across the UNSC without falter. The recent events on Skopje meant several things for the UNSC and UEG from now forward. More refugees. More people seeking work in an economy that was missing another entire planet - an important one, at that. More outer-colony pressure on the UNSC to strengthen defenses on the rims of Human-controlled space. More lives lost. More problems.

Less chance of survival.

The crime rate had* jumped by a significant 15% over the last month. Robberies, theft, and brutal violence plighted virtually every outer-colony. To make matters worse was the fact that there'd been spotting of a small Insurrectionist flotilla a few weeks ago, encroaching on the Hellespont system.

Recruitment ads flooded the Waypoint, as was common, as well as War-Effort articles urging people to do their part however they can. A continuously growing number of people were flocking towards work in factories as an alternative to UNSC military service, desperate to do something. There was one section in particular about some factory on New Carthage that'd apparently been leading several systems in total output. Apparently, it was one of the first munitions factories to start mass-production of HRUNTINGs. Jane was definitely going to the military, but she wouldn't ever consider working in one of those factories. Among the numerous problems she'd read about them was the fact that they were highly dangerous to the workers. Any place like that is more danger to its own people than even the Covenant. Among other problems was the fact that many criminals sought out work at factories to avoid justice.

Jane had heard of New Carthage. She'd read about it plenty of times. From what she understood, the world was a hotspot for businesses and commerce - a lot of which was corrupt. Majority of its population worked in those factories, which were just as harsh as the mining operations and weapons workshops that also covered the planet. Of the millions of people who lived there, nearly 65% of the money on it was owned by only about a thousand people.

"Hm."

There was one interesting article she came across, however. It was about a new expeditionary fleet that had just formed.

Officially, it would be called the Ninth Fleet. The flagship was the UNSC _Despair's Light_ , a Punic-class supercarrier in the final stages of development. Jane scrolled down to the bottom of the article. The Ninth Fleet would field over 50 frigates, with an almost equal number in destroyers. A solid 20 cruisers formed the backbone of the Ninth Fleet, with about 9 carriers. Rounding out the fleet was a pair of prowlers.

A small section beneath the article reported that the fleet would be responsible for conducting system patrols among the outer-colonies as well as the inner-colonies. On paper, the fleet sounded impressive. What the article lacked, however, was any mention of who'd be commanding the fleet. But it did mention that the fleet would assemble for deployment above Reach. Right above where Jane lived.

Her datapad vibrated lightly, and the screen alerted her to an incoming call. She saw it was mom, and answered. The datapad cameras allowed them to talk face-to-face, in a sense.

"Hey," Jane said.

"You look quite... Unprepossessing. The next time you work out, clean yourself up right away."

"That's an interesting thing to say. I'm told by some that I look like a certain lady..."

Mom gave a rare smile at that. Jane took a close look at her. Her sharp uniform conformed to her delicate frame, and was brilliantly adorned in decorations and medals and ribbons earned from a lifetime of service in the UNSC. To top it off was the eagle embroidered artistically on her shoulders. Colonel Lisa T. Shepard had earned her prestige the old-fashioned way, through hard work, perseverance, dedication, and loyalty. An impressive record of command in operations against insurrectionists, as well as fending off a Covenant raid back in 2531, rounded out her portfolio. A small scar that split her left eyebrow in two made Lisa look all the more tough. She looked like an older version of Jane. They had the same personality and mannerisms as well. The same steely, incandescent amber eyes. Back in her youth, she and Jane could have been twin sisters.

"So, how's it been at the Tower today? Still crazy?" Jane asked.

"You know I can't discuss esoteric information. But I'm doing fine. How was school?"

"Still filled with the ignoramus and the dejected," Jane replied, thinking back to today's experience. She'd been getting used to public schooling ever since arriving on Reach. Prior to enrolling at New Alexandria Secondary, all of her schooling had been done over the Waypoint. Up until enrollment, she hadn't so much as sat in a classroom.

"That sounds very much like what I encounter here; but there's no need to be misanthropic."

"You look tired. You should get off early today," Jane told her.

"I can't," she said simply.

Jane rolled over onto her stomach and looked down into the datapad. "Ohkay."

"Talked to your father today?"

"No, ma'am," Jane replied. Her father was way up on Anchor 9, working on the staff for some task force that spent its time doing classified stuff. Rear Admiral Bren J. Shepard was a valuable asset to the UNSC. He'd served under Admiral Cole himself all the way from the Cole Campaigns to the Battle at 18 Scorpii. In 2542, he'd been in command of the small naval force at Alluvion. He was one of the few experienced naval commanders still living when it came to fighting the Covenant. At this point in the war, most of the veterans were dead or MIA, including Admiral Cole himself. But for whatever reason, HIGHCOM had decided to tag him onto some classified task force operating off of Reach. Which was a good thing, in a sense. Jane wasn't close to him, but he was still her father. It was very uncommon for both her parents to be stationed so near each other. This was one of the few times where the family was all in roughly the same place. Jane stayed with her mom, so normally, the only time she got to see her father was when he was on leave.

"Cook something tonight," Mom said.

"I'll go and buy something," Jane told her.

"That's fine. I'll be home soon."

With that, the call ended and Jane was left alone once more, staring down into a blank screen. She waited a beat, and then headed for her shower to clean herself up.


	4. Chapter 3

**-Chapter III-**

 **0546 Hours R-WST**

 **10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Military Wilderness Training Preserve; planet Reach**

 **Unified Combined Military Boot Camp (UCMB) Echo Sordei. Highland Mountains.**

* * *

"Get outside! Now - triple time! Get the _hell_ outside! I'll kill every single one of you! You hear me!? _I'll kill you all!_ "

Mago bumbled and stumbled his way towards the exit, getting caught in a tide of arms and legs as every single recruit in the barracks fought to escape outside. There was shoving, elbowing, and pummeling from all directions. Rational thought had flown in the wind immediately, right after the drill instructors woke everyone up 15 minutes ago. In its place came a basic instinct to survive. Mago fought his way through the pack, trying his best to maneuver in the heavy boots and gear he was wearing. In a blur off to his right, Mago spotted someone hit the floor - hard. His first instinct was to keep moving, but instead, he managed to stick an arm out to help the guy up. The name on the guy's tag read J. Doe.

It took several seconds to help the guy get to his feet. Several seconds too long. By the time they both gained their balance, everyone was already outside.

Mago rushed out the barrack entrance into an early morning sky. Mountains towered in all directions, killing any hope of seeing a horizon. Military jets and aircrafts whizzed by overhead, leaving behind smoke trails that criss-crossed far above. Tall comms towers stretched high into the sky at the west-end of the base, rivaling the jump towers on the eastern side. The tall, bulky buildings of UCMB Echo Sordei were embedded within the mountains as far as the eye could see. The base had to be miles long, and it looked old, as if it had been constructed way back in the early days of Reach's colonization.

The cool air felt good on Mago's nearly bare head. Late last night, when the recruits had first arrived, the males had all been given painful haircuts. Mago's hair hadn't been this short since the sixth grade. Normally, he kept it at a roughly moderate length, but now he could touch his head and feel his fingers on his scalp.

The recruits were in formation about 15 yards in front of the barracks, forming a straight line that stretched a long distance. All of them were shaking as a result of the low temperature, shuffling their feet around in the cold, wet grass and looking scared. Mago rushed to get in line at the far end off to the right, and J. Doe lined up next to him to finish off the line.

Somewhere down the line, a DI was pissed off. "I said stand straight!"

Mago glanced down there just in time to see the rabid DI punch a recruit in the stomach. The blow was hard enough to make the recruit keel over. Then the DI smacked another recruit across the face for not looking ahead. Mago nearly jumped - he immediately snapped his eyes forward and stood stone still.

For what felt like an eternity, the drill instructors paced down the line, snapping at recruits and smacking them around. There were cries of pain, and shouts of anger, and shallow breathing. Blades of grass flew around fiercely as the DIs dashed about the line, their movements like constant blurs of motion. One of them walked right up to Mago and Doe, and stared straight down into their faces.

"I told you to get outside, boots. Triple time," the instructor growled.

With every ounce of willpower he had, Mago forced his eyes to stay straight. It took everything he had to not show any sign of weakness. The instructor looked like a grizzled veteran. Scars marked his face, carving up his skin in an almost inhuman manner. His eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses, but what stuck out the most was a burn scar that ran from the bottom of his left jaw, down into his shirt. A cap sat on top of his head, with the words _7 Tours and Counting_ crudely stitched into the front brim. Which meant that he was definitely a veteran - a combat veteran. Combat veterans rarely, if ever, trained recruits. Because combat veterans were of more use out on the frontlines. But Mago had read that they tended to be several times harsher than the average drill instructor.

This instructor had killed Covenant before, no doubt. Probably some humans, too.

"Why weren't you outside in triple time?" The instructor asked as he pulled off his sunglasses, revealing wide, black eyes.

Mago cleared his throat and spoke up immediately. "Recruit Doe fell down, so I helped him to his feet. Sir."

" _Scream!_ "

Mago repeated the words, yelling as loudly as he could stand.

The instructor took a step forward. What little distance had separated him from Mago was now gone. The only audible sounds were the instructor's breathing, and the beating of Mago's own heart. He resisted the urge to step back.

"Two extra laps on the run. Both of you. Fail my orders again," the instructor paused, glancing at both of them. "I will make your lives _hell_. Got me?"

"We get you, sir!" Mago and Doe shouted in unison.

After that, the instructor placed his sunglasses back on, spun around smartly and paced to stand in front of the line. The other instructors jogged up to his sides and stood behind him at-ease. There were 8 of them in total. More than enough to handle a bunch of recruits.

"Recruits! Atten- _tion_!"

Simultaneously, the entire line of recruits snapped even straighter. Nobody dared to do anything out of line.

The instructor who'd threatened Mago and Doe took a step forwards, his hands clasped behind his back. "Welcome to boot camp, recruits! I am Master Sergeant Carlos Ramirez. And this here," he pointed towards the ground for emphasis, "is _my_ world. Where _my_ voice is the only thing that matters. We only have two rules here at Echo Sordei: You do what we say, and you do it when we say it. Period. Just like we tell you at those recruitment stations - any of you who can't cut it will be kicked out of here. No exceptions. We make marines here.

You will learn how to fight. You will learn how to kill. You will learn how to be a marine. And you _will_ be sent on your way to the frontlines - where the fighting's the thickest. You _will_ see death. Do you get me?"

"We get you, sir!" The recruits yelled in unison.

"Speak up!" Sergeant Ramirez fussed.

 _"We get you, sir!"_

"Scream!"

 _"We get you, sir!"_

"Let's get you pansies into shape! Push-ups!" Ramirez shouted at them.

At once, everyone fell to the ground into the ready position. A moment later, Instructor Ramirez led the platoon in exercise.

"Sound off! One, two! One, two! One, two!"

With every shout, the recruits pushed the ground. Mago kept his breathing as steady as possible, despite having to constantly sound off. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Breathing was key to maintaining good endurance. The other instructors were busy moving up and down the line, checking to make sure everyone was doing the exercise properly. Mago could hear them screaming their lungs out at recruits, their voices like burnt sandpaper.

One of them ran up to the recruit at Mago's left. He screamed something, and then grabbed the recruit by his collar and tossed him out of the line. Adrenaline began to burn Mago's veins as he caught a glimpse of the recruit catching a stun baton to the back.

"You're going to die here, boot! Get those push-ups right, or kiss your ass goodbye!"

 _Jesus!_ Mago refocused his attention on keeping up the pace.

"One... Two! One... Two!" Ramirez continued on, his shouting beginning to hit a slower pace.

The slower they did the push-ups, the more burn Mago could feel in his arms. And it wasn't coming to a stop anytime soon. Sweat began rolling off him in a torrent, soaking into the ground beneath him. His ears were filled with screams from both instructors and recruits, like booming thunder. PETQP felt like a boy scout club compared to this. Ramirez was like a machine, unable to stop. Mago had to tap into a reserve pool of willpower and energy to keep from slacking off. His numb arms began to shake from the effort. Either he kept up, or he would catch direct punishment from an instructor. Off to his right, Doe still managed to keep pace, though he was visibly shaking as well.

"Alright! Jumping jacks, switch! One, two! One, two!"

The transition happened in a flash. Mago scrambled to his feet as fast as possible, rushing to get into the groove. His shoulders started to burn, and he began to notice the first signs of wear and tear on his legs. Just as soon as he got into a good rhythm, Instructor Ramirez switched up once again.

"Back to push ups!"

Mago immediately hit the ground. Every pump felt like trying to shove a tanker. The cold weather didn't factor in when it came to this type of workout. Burning fire roared throughout Mago's entire body, like someone had stuck a scalding hot branding iron into his chest. Mago weighed about 64 kgs, but every time he pushed himself up, it felt like someone threw on an extra 2 kilos.

"Jumping jacks!"

Once again, the exercise shifted at a lightning pace, with no pause at all. Those who were slow to the mark were hunted down by the instructors and singled out. Back in PETQP, the trainers hadn't cared if you kept pace, so long as you actually tried to do the workout. Back then, Mago could've taken a break right in the middle of it if he'd wanted to. He wished he was back there and not here.

"Rest!"

Finally, Ramirez called off the calisthenics. For a brief moment, Mago felt himself wobbling on his legs. If they'd kept on for a few minutes longer, then he probably would've collapsed to the ground. That would've been a bad thing - a fact that was evident by the several recruits who actually did, who suffered severe backlash from the DIs. Instead, he fell to one knee and rasped harshly, unable to catch his breath. A roiling pain stabbed him in his chest for a second, and he grimaced. It took him several moments to recover. He finally managed to raise his head and saw a few instructors arriving on scene with crates of small, sweating water bottles. Mago would've began salivating if his mouth hadn't been so dry.

"That's... a damn beautiful sight..." A voice rasped out next to Mago, breathing heavily. He looked to see Doe, sitting on the ground and pointing towards the water crates. "I'm Johnathon. John Doe. You can call me JD," he said, sticking out his hand.

Mago clasped Johnathon's hand weakly. "Mago. Mag."

Instructor Ramirez pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his coal black, sunken eyes once more. Mago got a better look at him. Crows feet gave him an older, more weathered look. He had to be at least 50 years old.

"Alright everyone - we've got some water here. There's enough for everyone; _almost_ everyone. We have 49 bottles. Which means that one of you won't be getting any."

Damn.

"We've set up a little game to see who gets water and who doesn't. See those pull-up bars over there?" Ramirez asked, pointing towards a workout station about 100 yards to his rear. About 10 pull-up bars were lined up in a pit of sand. Bodyweight exercising. "All of you are going to get a shot to see how many you can knock out. Loser doesn't get a water bottle. If more than one of you hits the lowest number, then we'll settle it in a head-to-head.

Now line up! Five of you at each bar! _Go! Go! Go! Triple time!_ "

In unison, everyone scrambled to get to the bars. Mago sprinted to the nearest one as best as he could. The weighty gear that he wore slogged him down and made running difficult. He slipped into line at the first bar, right behind JD. After several seconds of lining up and heavy breathing and screaming instructors, Ramirez blew on his whistle.

"First rank, go!"

JD stepped forward and leaped up to the bar, pumping out reps as fast as he could. And an instructor was right there at him, screaming at him to keep it up whilst brandishing a stun baton. There was an instructor for every station, presumably to keep count. They were busy fussing and cussing at the recruits, snapping at every single sleight that they saw. "You better make those overhands! Don't you drop from that bar! Keep going! Keep going!"

Mago counted 16 as JD dropped to the ground, his arms visibly spent. An instructor rushed over and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him off the sand pit. It took another 15 seconds before the final recruit from the first rank dropped. Mago rotated his arms and tried his best to get prepped. Upper-body strength was one of his strong points. This should be easy cake.

"Next rank, go!"

With a quick leap, Mago caught the pull-up bar and started going. He made sure to watch his breathing and to pace himself. A lot of people burn themselves out early on by going too fast. He also made sure to do full extensions. The sky rose and fell in a constant pattern as he did his reps. No matter what, Mago wasn't about to lose this contest. But he could begin to feel his arms going out entirely. From experience, Mago knew to reserve energy whenever he could. He decided to stop going before he burned out his arms all together.

When he hit the ground, he was surprised to see all of the instructors surrounding him. "God damn it son, who told you to let go of that bar!?" One of them screamed.

"I think that's a new damn record. You think you're something special, boot!?"

"That's how it's _done!_ That's how a marine does it!"

"Now get the hell out of my sandpit, recruit!"

Mago didn't even have time to register what happened before he felt steel hands gripping his arms, forcing him off to the side. A hand slapped him in the back, and he went tumbling to the ground, too weak to keep himself from falling. Cold, wet grass smacked his face, covering him with dirt and grit. For a moment, he wanted to stay like that, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spat out a mouthful of dirt, twisted onto his bottom, and saw it was JD.

"Don't let them see you lying down... If you care about your life, that is. But that was impressive, though. You did like... Over 20-something of them."

Several blades of grass were caught up in Mago's mouth. He spit some of them out, but he had to dig around with his fingers to get the rest of them. After a moment, he wiped his lips. Gross but necessary. The pull-up bar had done a number on his palms. Mago stared at his bare hands for a moment, and then looked at JD. "You did 16, so you should be good."

"Yeah... I'm a... Rookie, when it comes to this... I just enlisted a few days ago, technically."

"A few days ago? You don't have PETQP where you're from?"

"More like 15, to be specific. Give or take... Like 10. That's about how long it took me to get here from Luna."

"You're Lunarian?"

"Born and raised."

A majority of the recruits would be from the inner-colonies. The outer worlds closer to the edge of human space tended to have much lower populations on average, compared to those within the heart of UEG space. And at least half of those outer-colonies were agricultural communities, with little standard UNSC presence. Thus, many of the outer-colony recruits tended to enlist into their local defense forces. But even still, it'd been a rare sight for Mago to meet a native of the Sol system. Rumor had it that they were typically wealthy, but also prodigiously cordial. Lunarians were known for being particularly reticent.

Mago had read several books on recruitment and enlistment practices of militaries throughout the ages. One thing remained a constant - those people living closer to the heart of a civilization tend to be the ones most interested in defending it. All the way from the First Peloponnesian War to the Rainforest Wars.

"History repeats itself..." Mago muttered beneath his breath.

"Say what?"

"It's nothing."

Mago crossed his legs and resisted the urge to take off his shirt. Despite the frigid temperatures, he felt as if he were burning inside. Cool weather was a certainty back on his homeworld of New Carthage. Which was a good thing, given the fact that Echo Sordei was located within the Highland Mountains. But it could potentially be a bad thing; as a result of being accustomed to New Carthage's climate, Mago hated hot weather, or feeling hot in general. Hopefully, the temperature here wouldn't rise to a considerable degree.

The next row of recruits finished doing their pull-ups. They stumbled over one by one, and Mago finally got a good look at the entirety of the group. From what he could tell, most of the recruits were young men, much like himself. There were some girls, but not many. The entire group had arrived at the base last night, and the in-processing experience had been expedient. They'd been issued their gear and herded into the barracks, all of it done in relative darkness with no talking allowed. Then they'd gone to sleep. So Mago hadn't really known what was going on almost.

It took a while before the final rows of recruits finished doing their sets. Anysus had been in that last row. Mago spotted him jogging over from across the field.

"Mag," Anysus nodded in his direction. Then he turned to JD and shook his hand. "Yo. Name's Anysus."

"I'm Johnathon Doe... JD."

"What made you sign up for this shit, JD?"

"Little bit of this... Little bit of that... ... Little bit of those..."

"We'll talk about it later then, huh."

Before Anysus could say anything else, Instructor Ramirez grabbed everyone's attention, ordering them to form up a line. The 50 recruits rushed into a single-file line, and the instructors began passing out the water bottles. As they handed out the water, Ramirez spoke to the entirety of the group, pulling off his glasses once more.

"When you're on the frontlines, there are going to be times when supplies are running low," he started.

"There are going to be times when you will have to decide between carrying the last box of ammunition, or carrying the last box of survival rations. Or," his voice took on a more grim tone, "carrying those who didn't make it. Where you're going to make sacrifices; and you're going to live the rest of your life, however long that may be, on the consequences of those choices. You'll be pushed to your absolute limits, much harder than anything we can provide here."

Instructor Ramirez handed Mago a water bottle. He took it immediately and unscrewed the cap, swallowing a mouthful of heavenly water. It wasn't as cold as Mago had expected. And it wasn't much either - not even half a liter per serving. It mattered little to Mago. All he needed was something to pour down his parched throat.

"When I got promoted to Sergeant, my first ground operation came less than a week later," Ramirez continued, heading towards the front of the line. "The UNSC had been engaged with Covenant forces in a long campaign in a distant system in the outer-colonies. My platoon was sent as an attachment to a mechanized battalion; to defend the final off-world evacuation site on the last UNSC-held planet in the system. Sharing a common brotherhood with my fellow marines - realizing that we were all in it _together_ \- is what got us off that planet. That each and everyone one of us matters. And sacrifices had to be made."

Mago took a quick glance down the line. He spotted the recruit who hadn't gotten anything - a small guy with a skinny build, and a pair of glasses covering huge blue eyes. The guy looked like he belonged in some HIGHCOM office instead of in a UCMB. Squinting his eyes briefly, Mago managed to make out his nametag: S. Malarkey.

"Eyes front! Right-face!" One of the DIs shouted, and everyone snapped forward at once. A few seconds passed by as the DIs checked the line. "Time to go running," another one said.

Ramirez blew on his whistle. "We've got ourselves a _long_ jog to see the sights. I'll be the tour guide. Anybody who falls behind is spending the night in the Deathfield."

Mago felt a hand tap him on his arm, and he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. It was some girl with an exotic dark olive skin tone that almost matched the fatigues everyone had on. She might've been from a planet with a warmer climate. Probably wasn't used to this type of cold weather. "What's the Deathfield?" She whispered.

"I don't know, and I don't think either of us wants to find out. You'd better keep up."

She gave Mago a smug smile at that.

"Let's roll out!" Instructor Ramirez yelled. He was at the front of the line, leading the way. The rest of the DIs were spread along the line, keeping close watch on the recruits.

Mago shifted into gear as everyone broke into formation. The pace felt much faster than anything he'd done back in PETQP. The heavy boots and weighted fatigues made it much harder. But he still had about half his water left. For a split second, he was about to down it right then and there, but then he changed his mind, remembering what Instructor Ramirez had said, and fell back to the rear of the line, falling in right next to S. Malarkey.

"I still have some water," Mago said between breaths as they pounded forward, handing out his water bottle. "Here."

"You keep it, man. You earned it, dude."

Mago insisted, and finally, S. Malarkey took it and finished it off, tossing the bottle to the side. He held out his hand, and Mago shook it.

"Thanks, man. I'm Sleeshah Malarkey."

"Sleeshah? ... Like _slingshot_?" Mago asked him.

Sleeshah sighed, "Yes. No. It's _like_ slingshot, but it's pronounced Slee-shah."

"Keep up," Mago gave Slingshot a pat on the back and made his way back up the line.

They pounded on and on for well over 30 minutes. At first, they were running around the UCMB main base. They passed by obstacle courses, shooting ranges, the gigantic motor pool, as well as the mess hall. Instructor Ramirez hadn't lied when he'd said that they would see the sights. The base wasn't built for comfort at all, by what Mago could see. Sharp, angular structures ran the length of it. Obstacle courses were around every single corner; some of them seemed relatively easy, while others looked like certain suicide. Occasionally, they'd come across another trainee platoon; the recruits looked just as miserable as Mago felt. One of the largest buildings in the base housed the indoor swimming pool. It was smaller than the outside pool though, which was reserved for "special occasions," according to one of the DIs. The base didn't have a full airfield, but it did have a helipad station for pelicans, falcons, and other smaller-scale UNSC aircraft.

The main attraction was a large sand pit at the center of the base, about 1 kilometer in length and half a kilometer in width. Absolutely massive. A large sign at the perimeter of it read **'The Deathfield: What doesn't kill you, will make you wish you were dead'**. Dangerous obstacles covered it entirely, and there was razor-wire all over it. Shock posts were erected at set intervals all throughout, ready to give a sharp stun to anyone who stumbled into one. There were pits scattered about, with sharp wooden sticks protruding from the sides. Spikes and other hazardous objects covered its obstacle courses. Of course, Ramirez led the formation through the entire length of the Deathfield. Running in deep sand, wearing heavy combat boots and weighted fatigues, was far from a trivial task. Recruits tripped and fell over each other all across the Deathfield. Those who didn't get up immediately were swatted by shock batons. It seemed like forever before they made it out the other side.

At this point, Ramirez began singing cadence. "All my life, the truth I've known!"

The recruits repeated his phrases at the top of their lungs.

"Marines don't hide from the combat zone!"

"I don't need no gua-ran-tees!"

"I just need my MA5C!"

"Killing enemies is my God-given plan!"

"And if I die, I'll have my rifle in my hands!"

"I don't know but I've been told!"

"The UNSC is in control!"

The mantra continued on into the run. And the only saving grace seemed to be the cold weather. The long train of recruits followed Drill Instructor Ramirez deep into a heavily forested area outside the eastern end of the base. The terrain was hilly and generally messy, with huge rocks and holes, mudpits and other hazards all over the place. They ducked past thick tree trunks and bushes with razor-sharp leaves. Mago would've had cuts all along his arms had it not been for his fatigues. Before long, the formation came upon a mountain that stretched up far past the tree line. Instructor Ramirez didn't hesitate, and the formation was led up a trail carved out by countless other foot steps.

The run reminded him of a book he'd read a long time ago, back when he was a kid. It'd been about a cataclysmic war fought on Earth in the early 22nd century. Something called the Third World War. The book was a firsthand account of the harsh training regimes. This was nothing compared to what they'd gone through in that book, and Mago willed himself to push through any weakness.

After several minutes of running uphill, Mago met Instructor Ramirez as he was coming back down hill. Mago focused his attention on trying to make it uphill, though, trying to catch the turn-around point. He caught a quick glimpse of Anysus, who seemed to be about midways through the pack. It took Mago nearly 2 minutes to reach the turn-around spot. He overtook several recruits who were starting to dip down to the rear, losing their pace.

The downhill trip was noticeably easier than the uphill trip, but that wasn't saying much.

As more and more recruits started to slack up, Mago climbed his way closer and closer to the front of the pack. He hadn't gotten to the halfway, but he'd gained ground. JD was keeping up as well, just behind him. The long train of recruits had begun to stretch a considerable length though. A time gap of roughly 4 seconds separated Mago from the next guy. Instructor Ramirez was just up ahead somewhere, and Mago could hear him shouting and screaming at recruits, shocking them into keeping pace.

After going back up and down a couple more times, Instructor Ramirez finally slowed down to a stop, allowing everyone to catch up. Mago was just coming off the base of the incline as the DIs set up the rest area.

He jogged up to where everyone had stopped and barely managed to keep from collapsing. Instead, he slammed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath, almost hyperventilating. His lungs burned like a fiery blaze, and he had long ago lost feeling in his legs. Sweat poured off him like rainwater. From what he could tell, he'd managed to climb his way into the top 10.

Mago spotted the girl from earlier, the one from the warm planet. The one that matched the uniforms, that'd asked him about the Deathfield. Whoever she was, she didn't look tired at all. She looked like she was doing as good as the DIs. It was hard to tell because of the uniform, but Mago knew that she must be in excellent shape. The name on her uniform read K. Ten. Mago could hardly stand, whereas she looked as if she hadn't broken a sweat. Anysus was at the rest area as well, his hands clasping his kneecaps, rasping heavily. Mago wanted to go over and talk to him, but he was too tired to move. The only thing he felt like doing was sitting still and getting something to drink.

Instructor Ramirez walked up to Mago - his gigantic frame dwarfing Mago's. Mago snapped straight and still as statue, and Ramirez held out a water bottle.

Mago reached for it, but Ramirez pulled it out of his reach. He twisted off the cap and poured the water on the ground, right in front of Mago's face.

"You got two more laps, Boot. Up and down that hill. Your little Rookie buddy already got started. Now get running, before I shock your ass," Ramirez said, brandishing a stun baton from seemingly out of nowhere.

 _Damn._

"Aye, sir," Mago rasped out.

"Say what? Scream, recruit! Scream! _I want to hear you scream!_ "

"Aye, sir!" Mago croaked out as loud as he could, running off towards the hill to start his next climb. Ramirez took off after him, running right next to Mago as he made his way back up hill.

" _Scream!_ "

"Aye, sir!"

" _Scream! Scream! I'll gut you like a pig, recruit!_ "

"Aye, sir!"

"You got three minutes, recruit - three minutes!"

Mago chanted the phrase over and over, shouting as loud as he could. He screamed it non-stop; it felt as if he was drilling holes in his lungs and his voicebox. Finally, Ramirez let him go, turning to head back towards the rest area.

At this point, Mago was forced to shove his fatigue to the back of his mind. He was forced to put aside all thoughts of home, all thoughts of feeling tired, all thoughts of giving up. He had to forget about the sharp pain in his chest. The only thing that mattered was running. It'd been such a short time since he'd arrived at UCMB Echo Sordei, but it felt like he'd been at the base for over a year. If Mago gave in, then he would be proving to himself that he didn't have what it took. Everything hurt, even his nose, but Mago pushed through it.

Mago dipped around the turn-around point and headed back down the mountain, taking in the surroundings outside the base for the first time since he'd been at the UCMB. He'd never stepped foot on any other planet than New Carthage, and Reach was an entirely different beast. Most of New Carthage, around where he lived, was generally flatland, with infrastructure all over the place. But here, UCMB Echo Sordei was situated within a mountain range. Mago had never seen a mountain up close in person before. And there was wood and nature covering almost everything, and even a waterfall. He could see rivers carving through the landscape. Back in Pilvros City, there were only two rivers to be seen - the one in East Pilvros Nature Park, and the other one that cut through the middle of the city.

Topping off the list was the fact that the gravity here was slightly stronger than on New Carthage. It was a slight increase, but it was also slightly noticeable.

Far off to the southeast, Reach's bright K-type star began to creep up past the tallest mountains. Never in his life had Mago seen such a sight. A slow unraveling occurred as sunlight peeled back layers of darkness all over the land, and it looked absolutely stunning. A view like this was completely foreign to the conurbations of New Carthage. He wished he could take a picture of it to send back to his family.

 **1147 Hours R-WST**

 **10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complexplanet Reach**

 **Reach Naval Officers Academy. Highland Mountains.**

* * *

The Naval Officers Academy was undoubtedly one of the UNSCs top military schools in existence. Millions of credits had gone into the design and construction of it. The investment could be seen in the high-tech classrooms housed within the main building, the Union. Even the student barracks had been invested in. The UNSC had spared no expense in ensuring the highest quality possible when it came to the academy. And it was within the FLEETCOM Military Complex, which gave the students access to top-level firing ranges, obstacle courses, and a full-scale airfield, among other key sections.

The Academy served two purposes: to train cadets in their respective MOS, and to shape those cadets into highly intelligent and creative officers. Essentially, the Academy produced ideal UNSC personnel. Despite the impressive design features of the school, there was no special treatment for the cadets here. The Marine cadets were given particularly intense and unorthodox training, to prepare them for high-stress situations in which they'd have to think both fast and smartly. For some of their potential careers, they'd have to make life or death decisions in the heat of combat, decisions that could either save lives, or waste lives.

In total, there were about 78 Marine cadets. Jane Shepard was one of them.

Jane sprinted forward and leapt out over bare air. The next platform was closer to the ground, only about several feet away. She covered the distance easily and landed into a roll. Coming up to her feet, she turned and watched as the other four cadets - Sparkley, Harman, Amanda, and Viktor - followed behind her, landing safely on the platform.

Up ahead, the platform cut off sharply. Jane walked to the edge and glanced down. It was somewhere around 50 feet to the ground - a very long way. A large pool of water sat beneath them. Falling into that would hurt severely, damage some stuff. And cost the entire team a passing grade. An opposite platform stood erect across from the one the cadets were standing on. It was the same height as the one Jane's team was on, and it had railing on either side like theirs, but it's support beams ended in large wheels, rather than being buried into the ground. There was a rope connected to it that dipped all the way to the surface of the water below. There was another rope on the platform that they were standing on, but it wasn't connected to anything, and instead sat coiled up on the corner of the platform.

"How in the hell...?" Cadet Sparkley asked, his coal black eyes darting back and forth across the open gap.

"We should try jumping for it," Harman suggested.

Jane shook her head as she stared at the two ropes in deep thought. "No, that'll never work. That's not what we're supposed to do."

"Hey, I get that you came up with the ideas for the last ones, but nobody put you in charge. I say we leap for it!" Harman responded with an edge to his voice.

"No. That's a one-way ticket to that water down there," she replied, her eyes still glued to the two ropes as she tried to figure out a way to use them. They were placed there for a reason. Trying to jump for it would only cost the team, and Jane wasn't in the business of coming up short.

"You can sit up here like a dumbass for all I care. I'm going for it..." Harman took several steps back and prepared to jump.

Jane checked her frustration, but she turned on him immediately. "Listen to me," she started, but he ignored her. " _Hey!_ I'm talking to you," she said, getting in front of him. "Look at the gap. That's at least 10 meters. You wouldn't even make it halfway, idiot. So quit this bullshit, and help us come up with a real solution," Jane pointed him in the chest for emphasis.

"You don't tell me what to do. Now get out of my way!"

"I'd love to, but if one of us fails, then we all fail. And I'm not about to lose because of an idiot."

Harman stepped up to her and looked down into Jane's eyes. She met his gaze. Jane wasn't afraid of anyone, least of all some punk who probably wouldn't last 2 weeks at the academy.

"I said out of my way. Move, or I'll make you move."

Jane was just about to punch him in the gut before a pair of hands separated the two of them.

"Hey, hey, hey. Let's keep it cool here," Sparkley said as he split them up. "We don't have much time and we can't afford to be fussing at each other. We're supposed to work together. You know, a little thing called collaboration. Teamwork. Etcetera."

Jane backed off and headed towards the coiled rope. "Well, we need to use this rope," she said, crouching down next to it. She unsnapped her helmet and pulled it off for a brief second, running a hand through her hair.

"I concur, but how to adequately utilize it?" Viktor asked, picking it up and examining it.

"I think I have an idea," Jane said as she replaced her helmet. She glanced over her shoulder and looked Harman in the eye. "One that _doesn't_ involve wild jumping."

Harman frowned and crossed his arms, but he didn't say anything.

"Well?" Amanda asked.

"Well...," Jane started. "It's simple, really. If we tie this rope up to the railing here, we can get someone to swing over to the other rope and bind the two. Then, it's just a matter of getting everyone to cross over."

"I'm down with it," Sparkley said.

"I harbor no concerns with this method," Viktor agreed in his weird accent.

"All I see is a bunch of unnecessary risks," Harman said, his face crossed into a frown. "This is stupid."

Harman was starting to raise Jane's ire. "You'd prefer that we just jump for it, right? Because that's less risky and makes more sense?"

"Whatever," Harman replied.

"I see the simple part, but this's gonna be hard as hell, Jane," Amanda said as she stared into the water down below. "Besides, who's going to be the one to swing over there and tie them together? That's gonna be the most difficult part."

"Let me take care of that," Jane assured her.

Viktor and Sparkley picked up an end of the rope and began tying it around the left-side railing. It would have to be tightened considerably, to make sure that it didn't come undone. At the same time, Jane set about wrapping the other end around her waist, forming a makeshift rappel belt. It fit loosely around her slim frame, but it was good enough.

"Alright, I'm gonna need you guys to lower me. And spot me, in case the rope comes undone from the railing."

They got together and picked up the slack of the rope. Jane sat down on the edge of the platform and prepared to scoot off. She tightened her grip as hard as she could. "Let's do this."

"Good luck," Amanda said. Jane slid off the platform.

At first, she plummeted for several seconds. She gritted her teeth as she fell. It wasn't until she was halfway down that they finally managed to slow her descent. A few seconds later, she reached the end of the slack and hung suspended in the air, spinning around slowly about 15 feet above the water. The rope around her waist had tightened just a little. So far so good, but now she needed to get over to the other side.

Jane kicked out to try and gain some momentum. At first, she wasn't moving anywhere. Her hands began to feel strained from maintaining such a harsh grip, but she couldn't afford to loosen up. It took longer than expected for her to actually start moving somewhere. Instead of relying solely on her legs, Jane threw her entire body into each swing. Before long, she started to feel the burn in her muscles. And the rope around her waist loosened by just a tad each time she stretched herself.

The entire course had been designed with hurdles and obstacles that required both physical exertion and a coordinated plan. Jane had led the team with most of the obstacles. Cadet Amanda Reid had came up with the plans for the rest. They didn't have much time. The instructors wanted each team to get through the entire course within 20 minutes. Jane's team was close to finishing the course, but she estimated that they only had about 5 minutes left. It took her a full minute before she could gain enough momentum to arc close to the other rope.

Jane stretched out as she swung over to the next rope, but she missed by several inches. The rope around her waist loosened even more, and forced Jane to intensify her hold. She swung back in a long arc, reached the end, and then tried to push herself forward as best as she could on the return trip. She extended her arm further this time - the more she reached, the more she loosened the rope on her waist. The more the rope loosened, the more she had to rely on raw muscle power and endurance.

This time, her fingers missed by barely a single inch. Jane didn't have time to waste. She swooped back along the arc once more. This time, she needed to make it work. Failure wasn't an option. She needed to _win._

For the final time, Jane swooped back across the gap. At last, her hands caught the other rope. At the same time, the rope twisted around her midsection came loose entirely.

Jane's heart skipped as she almost lost her grip on it. But she managed to hold onto both of them, her arms screaming in protest. If she'd lost control of that rope, then the whole team would undeniably end up losing - it would take too long to recover it to connect them both.

Jane wrapped her legs around the second rope, and hung the next one loosely around her neck. Now, she had to climb.

The muscles in her back, shoulders, and arms started to go numb.

"Come on, Shepard!" Sparkley shouted from up above.

Jane had to pause for a moment to catch her breath. Every second wasted was a second lost, but she had her limits. At this point, they probably had about 3 minutes left. Hardly any time. What magnified everything was the gear that the cadets had to use. It was, basically, a modified version of standard-issue UNSC combat equipment, designed specifically for training. And it was slightly weighted - the legs, chest protector, shoulder guards, etc. But Jane couldn't let that slight inconvenience deter her - she was the daughter of Lisa Shepard. She was more than capable of handling this. Steeling her resolve, she redoubled her efforts and made it the rest of the distance to the top.

The rope was connected to a steel loop, right under the edge of the platform. Jane spun the first rope around her arm, securing it as best as she could, and then hauled herself up and over. For a brief moment, she stretched out on the platform and regained her breath.

"Hey! What are you doing?! Hurry up, damn it! If you screw this up!" She heard Harman's voice shout out.

Jane took the first rope and checked to see how far it would stretch. It was long enough to reach the railings, but there wasn't enough slack for her to tighten it properly. So she got on her belly and leaned over the edge, and started tying the two ropes together as best she could. After half a minute of tightening and twisting, she pulled on the rope to test it. Satisfied with the result, Jane signaled for the rest of the team to come across.

"Go one at a time! And hurry!" She called out to them.

 **2121 Hours R-WST**

 **10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Military Wilderness Training Preserveplanet Reach**

 **Unified Combined Military Boot Camp (UCMB) Echo Sordei. Highland Mountains.**

* * *

After an entire day full of raw calisthenics, bodyweight exercises, running, and very little to eat, the recruits had finally been released to the barracks. Hunger had escaped the minds of the recruits during the exercising. It wasn't until they'd been brought to the cafeteria that they'd remembered what starvation was. But Instructor Ramirez had given another one of his war stories, this time about the stress of not having any rations, and in turn hadn't allowed them to eat anything more than a snack. The instructors had made sure to fill in each and every second of the day with something difficult to do. This was the first and only time of the day that the recruits would have something resembling free time.

Mago made it to his bunk, a towel still wrapped around his neck and chest from when he'd left the showers. He had on the standard-issue sweatpants they'd been given, but he'd chosen to keep his shirt off. The temperature was warm in the barracks, and he wanted to stay as cool as possible. He hated being hot.

The beds were all arranged in rows of ten, and Mago's was deep in the far back corner. They were more like cots, rather than beds, providing little comfort. It was all fine with Mago, though - as long as he had a spot to sleep. Everything on him felt sore, from his bare feet all the way to his ears and eyes. Even his brain felt overtaxed.

He sat down on the edge of his cot and opened his footlocker. Everything in it was arranged neatly. The instructors demanded that everything be in perfect order. Mago grabbed a hidden candy-bar he'd snuck from the cafeteria and ate it in two bites, savoring the combination of peanut butter and chocolate.

"I'd crack a joke, but... I'm too tired. Like a motorcycle," Anysus said. His bed was right next to Mago's. Along with the rest of the squad he'd been assigned to.

Earlier that day, the instructors had broken everyone up into their squads. Anysus, JD, Slingshot Malarkey, and Karyo - the girl who matched the uniforms, and had asked about the Deathfield - made up the rest of Mago's squad. They all were assigned bunks right next to each other.

That'd been a brutal process; the instructors had sort of... Snapped. Mago had never seen anything like it. They'd started shoving everyone off to the sides of the room, screaming and shouting and, in some cases, outright hitting and slapping recruits. One of the instructors had lifted a cowering recruit to his feet, then gave him a harsh kick to the chest that'd sent him sliding across the floor. And then, they'd gone berserk on everybody's footlockers. They had dumped everyone's stuff into a giant pile in the middle of the room and tossed the footlockers wildly. One of the footlockers had almost hit Mago directly. Had his reactions been off, he'd have probably taken a sharp cut to the forehead, which would have sent him to the infirmary, which would have forced him to be dropped behind by a week. _And then,_ they'd gone around tearing down all the beds, tossing the mattresses, sheets, pillows, even going as far as taking apart the frames. Virtually everything in the room had been, basically, hit by a tornado. During all of this, the recruits had been forced to watch in absolute horror and silence.

The instructors had only given the recruits 1 hour to get everything set back up properly. Those who hadn't gotten set up in time were made to sleep outside on the ground, where it was both wet and cold.

Mago balled the candy-bar wrapper up and shot it into the nearest trash can. "Let's just hope they don't go screwball on us again," he said, thinking about the earlier incident.

JD was just getting back from the showers, and Slingshot was right behind him. JD was noticeably taller and bigger than Slingshot. But Slingshot's haircut made up for it and gave him somewhat of a tough look.

"I hate this place," Slingshot Malarkey said in his cool accent as he collapsed on his bed.

"Don't be like that, Slingshot. We're in this together. It's just day one," Anysus told him.

Slingshot rolled over onto his side and looked at Anysus. "It's _Sleesha-_ ah, what the hell."

Mago spotted Karyo heading their way. She looked the most relaxed out of everyone in the squad. It'd been like that all day. Mago couldn't understand why she was having it much easier than everybody else.

"What about you?" Anysus asked her as she made it to her bunk. Karyo sat cross-legged on it and ran a hand through her wet black hair.

"Hm?" She asked him, her brow raised inquisitively. Mago rolled over on his bunk and slipped his head beneath his pillow, lying on top of his sheets, trying to go to sleep. He was too tired to do friendly introductions and shit. Rest was all he wanted.

"How was day one? Regretting the decision to enlist?" Anysus clarified. Karyo must've thought about it for a moment, but before she could respond, Anysus said spoke up. Their voices were slightly muffled, but Mago could still hear everything, unfortunately. "You look like you're... A professional at this."

"Well, where I'm from, UNSC service is sort of a tradition - we're expected from a young age to be in the military in some capacity. I mean, that's kinda how it is everywhere now because of the war, but it's special on my homeworld. I've kinda been preparing for this for years."

Mago snapped his eyes open for a second. He _knew_ it. He could tell from as early as that first run of the day. Karyo had gotten through it with a breeze almost.

"Your turn, Slingshot Malarkey - tell us something about you. Camaraderie, and all that," Anysus said.

"It's Sleeshah. And there's nothing to tell," Slingshot said, rolling onto his back. "I was on my way to getting a scholarship to the University of Edinburgh on Earth. A Covenant war party invaded my home system, and we asked the UNSC for help. They didn't help. Covenant hit us hard, and I lost all of my family."

"Damn, dude, I'm sorry."

"Fucking Space Command," Slingshot muttered.

"That's what we're here for. So we can beat these Covenant assholes. Send 'em straight to hell," Anysus said. "You're up, JD."

"I grew up... And I.. enlisted," JD said. He kept the talking to a minimum, which was a common trait for Lunarians. What was a bit weird was the occasional pauses he took in his speech. He might've had a speech impediment or something as a kid. Mago tried to block out the conversation, but as he'd learned in cognitive psychology class, it wasn't possible to turn your ears off.

Anysus replied, "Me and Mag grew up on New Carthage. We go way back, like uh... I don't know, hip hop music."

"Tell us something, Mag,"

"Look, man, I'm trying to get to sleep," Mago said from beneath his pillow, his voice muffled. He was tired, and wanted to get at least a few hours of rest. The instructors would probably explode into the barracks in the middle of the night and go crazy again.


	5. Chapter 4

**-Chapter IV-**

 **1232 Hours R-WST**

 **11 September 2547 (Military Calendar)/(so like 2 months later)**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complexplanet Reach**

 **Reach Naval Officers Academy. Highland Mountains.**

* * *

"Chef's special today."

Jane took a tray from the counter and grabbed a handful of napkins. Every day was a chef's special. But Jane had to admit that the food smelled good for once. It looked good, too. Her stomach growled, to the point where she wondered if anyone else could hear it. Hurriedly, she made her way to her team's table. The cafeteria was a massive room - about half the size of a gravball stadium. There were three distinct sections of it - one for the cadets, one for the academy staff and officers, and a third for any civilians. It took Jane 2 minutes to carve her way to the table, and got a seat next to Amanda. The main entrée was grilled spadehorn steak, which looked alright. The side dish was rice mixed with cooked cephradon and sautéed onion slices.

"Have you heard?" Amanda asked her.

"About what?" Jane ate a slice of the steak. It was good.

"When we go to the range today. We're gonna be training alongside some recruits from the UCMB."

Jane raised her eyebrows. "Really? Where'd you hear that?"

"Sparkley told me."

Jane nodded. Sparkley kept up with the goings-ons. Attentiveness was a good trait.

"It's gonna be so weird. I heard that they make those recruits fight each other almost to the death, just so they can get something to eat. They're all probably crazy goofs."

"You're going to be leading those 'crazy goofs' one day. They probably think the same thing about us."

"Stop acting so charitable. I know you, Jane. You're pretty cold for a star-hopper."

"This cold 'star-hopper' is team leader," Jane said with a rare smile.

"Could I ask you a favor, Jane?" Amanda had a more serious look on her face.

Jane wiped her mouth. "What is it?"

"Tomorrow, at weekly inspection. I need you to cover for me."

"Cover for you? Why?"

Amanda looked down at her hands briefly. "There's just something I have to do, and I won't be able to make inspection."

Jane studied her carefully. Dodging inspection was extremely risky, and could possibly get one expelled from the academy. All cadets were expected to honor the code of conduct. Trying to workaround the officers without their permission was considered dishonorable, and to a lesser extent, cowardice. Jane hadn't considered Amanda to be one for secrets.

"What are you doing, Amanda?"

"I'll tell you about it later, promise," she said, avoiding the question once again.

Before Jane could reply, another pair of cadets showed up at the table, pulling out chairs across from Jane and Amanda. It was Sparkley Worde and Ned Tune.

Sparkley was a part of her team, and had been ever since day one. The officers made cuts every now and then, effectively removing anyone from the program who showed signs of incompetence or incapability, or who had a tendency to break rules, like how Amanda was trying to do. But Sparkley was one of the more clever cadets, and always kept a cool head. However, two members of Jane's team had gotten sent home early on - Harman, and Viktor, both of whom had been replaced by someone else.

One of those replacements had turned out to be Ned Tune, the same guy who'd gone to Jane's school back in New Alexandria. The same one she'd ran into at Ressikke Park. Ned was a mixture of brains and brawn; both physical mass and leadership ability. But Jane sensed he had imprudent tendencies.

"Sparkley. Ned," Amanda said as way of greeting.

"How's it going?" Sparkley asked her.

"We were just talking about the range today."

"Oh, yeah. The UCMB guys are gonna be there. Word on the street is that they shoot better than us, apparently. Gonna put that word to the test."

Jane finished off the cephradon rice and wiped her mouth. She still had half the spadehorn steak left, but she was full. Her appetite had vanished ever since arriving at the OCS. She didn't know why, but she theorized that it probably had something to do with the overall situation she was in. It felt like her life had been preparing her for this. And her parents had gone through the same thing. But despite that, Jane felt true _anxiety,_ probably for the first time in her life. A few months from now, and she could be in the middle of a desperate fight for survival against a Covenant army. The truth was that she didn't even know if she'd make it to the end of this year. All those years of her life, wiped out in a flash at the hands of some merciless alien. It was a completely different thing to talk about UNSC service, and another to actually be doing it.

"You ohkay, Jane?" Amanda tapped her on the shoulder. "Looks like you zoned out there for a second."

Jane stamped out her emotions, shoving them aside. Fear had it's place, and it wasn't at the forefront of her thoughts.

"Yes."

Ned gave her a look that she couldn't read, and then turned towards Sparkley briefly. "They can shoot better than us, huh?"

"Yeah man. That's what they say. And a lot of people say it. UCMB grunts are supposed to be tough as hell."

"That's just your everyday BS. If it's a competition they want, then it's a competition they'll get. And they'll lose."

"You seem confident, Ned," Amanda told him.

"Gotta be," he said simply.

"Commander Gree was trained at a UCMB. That oughta tell you something," Sparkley added.

Commander Gree had a service record that seemingly stretched back to ages ago, but he was no more than 35 years old by all appearances. He was the current overseer for the training regimes of the cadets. Of all the times Jane had been around him, she knew very little about him, and had only heard him speak when it was necessary. The man was a myth and a legend. According to some of the more experienced cadets, he'd singlehandedly repelled a Covenant boarding party by killing the elite officer, in hand-to-hand combat, and breaking the morale of the rest of the Covenant troops.

That sounded a bit embellished, even for someone of Gree's caliber. Jane didn't buy it. Most of the stories about him sounded exaggerated like that. Everything she'd read on the Covenant elite warriors indicated that they were far stronger than any human could hope to get.

"Gree is just some campfire story the older cadets tell the newer ones. He's probably not done any of that stuff. Like those so-called _Spartans,_ " Ned said as he ate a chunk of spadehorn steak.

"I don't know man," Sparkley told him. "I've heard some serious stuff about them."

"It's all just military superstition to keep morale up. I mean, come on - you really think that each one of them has killed _thousands_ of those alien freaks? This whole war would be over. I need to see some evidence, personally."

"Who knows. You might be right about that..."

Jane checked her wrist-chronometer. The team had about an hour to get prepped for the range and to meet at the RV. She was the only one finished eating. "You guys need to hurry up. And if you see Wagner, tell him to speed it up," Jane said as she stood up from the table, tray in hands.

Despite its massive size, the academy had a fairly simple layout. It covered roughly half of the Military Complex itself, but it was broken down into several key sections. The main building that represented the heart of the academy was the Union, which was Jane's current location. Several major halls separated the Union into 4 different wings, as well as sectioning off the giant cafeteria in the center. It took Jane several minutes to get to the outer edges of the Union.

Jane left the east-wing exit and stepped into cool Highland Mountain range air, heading towards the armory. Warthogs and various other vehicles carved paths across grey concrete, speeding throughout the base in a flurry of motion. A squad of UH-144 Falcons cut through the sky overhead, their underside autocannons giving them an intimidating look. There were door-gunners in all of them. Jane figured that they were heading off on some training exercise. A convoy of SP42 Cobra tanks were rolling along the center road of the base, kicking up dust and grit. The machines were lightweight in comparison to the scorpion, but they packed a deadlier punch. The twin-cannons mounted on top of them were powerful enough to vaporize Jane, and anything standing within 12 feet of her.

Although she'd never been on a true military installation prior to arriving at the academy, Jane had adjusted rather quickly to the sights and sounds. She didn't feel intimidated by the weaponry like she'd predicted. It felt natural to her.

After a few minutes of skirting around vehicles and brisk walking, Jane arrived at the armory. It was relatively smaller in comparison to the rest of the base. The armory was broken up into 3 different levels; the first two were for mainline equipment: standard-issue combat weaponry, live ammunition of all types, armor and gear, heavy weapons, mines and explosives, missiles and rockets, and any other piece of infantry warfare that'd be needed on the frontlines. The top floor was reserved for the cadets, and was much less intense in its catalogue.

Jane walked through the top floor. There were several other cadets milling around, but she didn't recognize any of them. They looked to be from one of the older classes. Probably close to graduating soon. They all gave her a brief glance as way of greeting.

After several minutes of gearing up, Jane took the time to inspect herself before leaving the armory. The combat gear used by cadets was a slightly modified version of the standard-issue armor and padding in use on the frontlines. By training standards, it was top of the line gear, designed specifically for an OCS. For weaponry, Jane had a BR55 strapped across her back, with several magazines filled with TTRs. By the time she finished, the rest of her team showed up. She checked her chronometer.

"What took you all so long?" Jane demanded.

"We ran into a couple of other teams," Amanda stated, heading towards the armor stands. Jane followed her. "They're saying that Commander Gree is going to be coming to the range. And I think we might be a little behind schedule - the pelicans are taking off soon."

Jane sighed. "Alright, well, we'll be fine."

Amanda went to strap her chest-protector, and Jane helped her. "Gree is gonna be there. That's new," Amanda said. Jane secured a few belts across Amanda's back.

"No pressure, right?" Jane said as Amanda started strapping her shoulder-guards on.

"He probably wants to see how we stack up in person. We're supposed to be the future officers, so we're supposed to be the standard-setters. Which means we have to set the standard. You worried?"

"Nope - not in the slightest. You all are taking this OCS versus UCMB thing _way_ too far," Jane said. "It's no big deal. We're all on the same side. The human side."

"Then why's Gree showing up suddenly?"

"Everything about him is a mystery, so, my guess is about as good as yours," Jane said as she took a quick glance at the rest of the squad.

Wagner was already finished, and so he sat on one of the benches near the exit. Sparkley and Ned looked to be almost done. They were busy talking about something, like always. Ned had to have been at least a full head taller than Sparkley. They both had a lot of things in common, but physical size was not one of them. Sparkley had an average-build, whereas Ned was a walking powerhouse.

"Whatever the deal is, we can't be shown up by those UCMB guys. Not with Gree there," Amanda said as she finished putting on her last piece of gear. The team was all set.

Jane walked to the front of the room and eyed each one of them in turn. She didn't like to talk much, so naturally, she wasn't big on speeches, but she always made it a point to talk to the team whenever they were leaving the complex. "Alright everyone. Today's going to be just like any other day. We go out and do like we always do: we _win._ We're good at doing that. But the most important thing to remember is that winning comes second to learning. They make us go to these shooting ranges for a reason, and that reason is to get better. Just like we're taught - we act, we assess, and we adjust accordingly. Rinse and repeat."

"Let's do this," Ned said, clasping his hands together.

Jane signaled for the team to follow her and headed towards the exit.

It'd only been about a week since they'd last gone to the Advanced Combat Range. The FLEETCOM Military Complex had a number of various weapons ranges all throughout it's length, but the most high-tech range was the ACR that'd been built outside the complex. The ACR had been designed as it's own facility, separate from the FLEETCOM complex entirely. It was roughly 110 klicks away from the academy, and as such, the cadets were typically given pelican transport to the ACR. Going to the ranges wasn't as common for the cadets as one might initially think - let alone going to the ACR. Jane could count on her fingers how many times they'd had dedicated training at a range. Learning how to shoot was important, but the cadets spent most of the time studying intermediate and advanced battlefield tactics, as well as strategical planning and grand military strategy.

The idea was that the War would have to been won through superior genius, rather than through superior strength. She couldn't even guess at how much time she'd spent understanding and theorizing about the methods of ancient military geniuses, such as the legendary Subutai, and the undefeated Alexander Suvorov, all the way to Admiral Cole himself. It was all about adaptation and improvisation.

And so, most of what Jane had learned had to do with strategical and tactical insight, command, and leadership. Only about a quarter of her time at the academy would be considered learning how to fight and kill.

The thing that stuck out the most about it all was the degree to which _chance_ played a part. Fighting a battle was only about 60% strategy and preparation. The rest was almost entirely up to chance. Like how the Qin general Li Xin _could've_ made a serious mark on history, had there not been an unforeseen rebellion that eventually led to his crushing defeat.

Jane bit her lip. She'd think about that stuff tomorrow. Today, she had to go to the range.

The team made it to the base aeropad.

"You know, sometimes, I kinda wish I'd gone into the Air Force. I heard that they get paid big bucks compared to us. And chicks dig pilots," Sparkley commented as they headed up the massive ramp to the aeropad.

"Oh, come on man," Ned jumped in. "The only badasses in the Air Force are the fighter pilots, and your chances of being one of those is really low. Like less than 10% low. That's not to mention they die all the time. A Broadsword's no match for a Banshee."

Jane signaled for them to cut the chatter as they made it up the long ramp. A wide array of aerial vehicles were parked neatly across it. About two dozen lightweight AV-14 Hornets made up the bulk of the force, supplemented with a number of mid-tier SkyHawks. For the heavyweight department, the aeropad had a 6-unit squadron of Vultures sitting tightly in the far corner, intimidating even when not in use. A Vulture was, in essence, an aerial artillery platform. Stories circulated about how a single Vulture could hold down half a battlefield for hours at a time.

The rest of the aeropad consisted of rows of pelican dropships. Jane spotted a gathering of cadets around several pelicans on the far end of the aeropad. Their backs were turned to her, so she couldn't spot any of their faces, but she could see their insignias and identified them as being in her class. Commander Gree was standing on top of the cockpit of a pelican, speaking to them. Jane had absolutely no idea how he got up there. She signaled to the team to follow her.

"...Same rules, just a different day. We exercise efficiency above all else," Gree was saying in his clipped voice. His cold brown eyes jumped to Jane. "Nice of you to join us."

Jane and her team snapped off a sharp salute simultaneously. Gree signaled for them to be at-ease.

"Let's get started," Gree said.

Jane bit her lip as she stood in formation, just outside the entrance of the ACR. Nobody said anything as the UCMB recruits marched from their convoy. They'd arrived at the range in a convoy of worn M831 troop warthogs, rather than any dropships. This was the first time Jane, or anyone else from her class, had seen the recruits. They were clad in an older model training armor, and their helmets were the same. Despite all the rumors, there didn't seem to be anything particularly different about them.

Everything was quiet as their drill instructor marched the recruits into a standard formation, directly across from the cadets. He took a long look at the recruits, his eyes hidden behind a pair of thick sunglasses. From what Jane could tell, he looked as if he was on the verge of exploding into rage. Apparently satisfied, he nodded once and then walked out across the open gulf between the two formations to meet Commander Gree in the middle-ground. They shook hands and spoke with each other for several moments.

As they conferred with each other, Jane let her eyes scan the recruits. Getting a closer look at them, they seemed to be very serious, which Jane figured to be a good thing.

That is, until Jane spotted a recruit in the first row whispering something to the squad leader recruit next to him. She had no idea what was said, but they both snickered for a moment. Their DI had his back turned, so he didn't see it.

Jane frowned briefly. _Were they actually joking?_ Talking while in formation was not allowed by any means, let alone joking and laughing, and the squad leader should know better. Who ever the squad leader was, he didn't seem to care, and whispered something back to the other recruit. Jane watched him closely for the next minute. She tried to read the nametag on his breastplate, but couldn't. He had a short name. Like Maito, or Maeo, or something. His grey eyes jumped directly at Jane suddenly, and he frowned momentarily. _Was he frowning at her?_ Jane decided automatically that she didn't like him. Weirdo.

The Drill Instructor shouted out, "Alright everyone, listen up!". Jane was caught off-guard by his booming, gravelly voice. His appearance matched his voice. Scars crossed his face angrily, and he wore a cap that was just as marked.

Commander Gree took over the reigns and spoke up next. "Here's the deal - we're going to pair you off, man to man, and we're going to run some target drills. Friendly competition."

Gree then took a look at the recruits. "There's more of you than there are us. So Master Sergeant Ramirez is going to cut your numbers down until we're evenly matched," he turned to face the DI. "I don't have to remind you to cut your worst shots."

"I can make do, Commander," Ramirez said. He pulled off his shades and then faced his recruits, shouting off a handful of names. Then he ordered those recruits to stand off to the side. Jane couldn't understand how someone could get used to that voice. Next, he redressed their formation. Finally, he turned to face Commander Gree. "That makes 40."

"Alright then," Gree said.

The next few minutes saw everyone filing into the ACR, all quiet with weapons slung over shoulders and helmets strapped on tight. The interior of the building seemed to be even larger than when looking at it from the outside. The ceiling was at least 50 yards high overhead, and powerful lights hung in an ordered pattern. Other groups of UNSC personnel busied themselves around the building. Some of them worked the maintenance of the facility, while others were here for their own training purposes. There were different squads of Marines milling about, as well as Army Troopers, and what looked like a platoon of the planetary militia. The sound of gunshots and explosions rang throughout the halls, creating a steady cacophony of background war ambiance.

The line of recruits and cadets marched past a number of different gun ranges and vehicle ranges, openly taking in the array of sights and sounds before finally reaching their destination.

The range they were using was a state-of-the-art room. Beyond the shooting stations, the length of the range was a simulated deciduous forest, with high, bright-leaved trees standing proud, and occasional bushes pocketing the ground level. The targets were designed to be slightly camouflaged and somewhat difficult to spot, and they ranged from 50 meters to upwards of 1500 meters; although, anything beyond 600 meters was considered extreme range and was only used by scouts and snipers.

The drill instructor went into the observation booth off to the right to check the targeting systems and set the range limit. Commander Gree went over the rest of the rules.

To keep everything equal, the only guns allowed in use were MA5 model rifles, which meant that Jane would have to use Amanda's weapon instead of her own. Jane had no problem with that. Since there were 40 a piece to both sides, they would be broken up into 8 different sets. Each side would match-up with the other, one to one, and the team, or squad, with the most target hits, would be the winner of the set, and a point would be added to either the cadets or the recruits. It was mostly straightforward.

After his explanation of the rules, everyone broke off to either side, with the cadets taking the left, and the recruits taking the right. Jane took a seat on one of the benches and unslung her BR55. Amanda sat next to her.

"Well, this is definitely going to be interesting," Amanda said. "First to five wins, right? I think we're going to do good."

"I'm going to need to use your gun."

"Yeah, I figured. You _can_ handle her, can't you?"

Jane took her helmet off briefly and ran a hand through her hair, then she glanced at her chronometer. It'd been 19 minutes since they'd first lined up outside the ACR, although it'd felt like they'd been here for an eternity already.

A few minutes later, the drill instructor returned from the observation room and nodded to Commander Gree.

"Looks like we're ready," Gree said. Jane couldn't remember the last time she'd heard Gree say so much in one day. "Galen, your team's up."

Several of the cadets got up from the far end of the bench and headed to the shooting station. In turn, the drill instructor shouted at one of his recruit squads, and five of them leaped to their feet almost instantly and double-timed it to the shooting station, moving in a clean line the entire time.

"Jeez..." Amanda muttered.

The recruits lined up across from the cadets, and Gree said something to them all, but they were too far away for Jane to hear.

The first member of the cadet team stepped forward, and one of the recruits did the same. They shook hands, and then took up positions at their shooting spots a few feet away from each other, both of them going prone.

The next several minutes saw a staccato of gunfire spark the range as the two sides faced off. One after another, the cadet team members stepped up to the plate to face off against the recruits, but it wasn't going well. The final score was revealed at the end of the set: the recruit squad had won, 22 targets to the cadet's 3. So the recruits were in the lead, 1-0.

"Holy crap," Amanda said in disbelief. "It wasn't even close!"

Sparkley shook his head slowly. "I knew this was coming. If Galen's team got smoked like that, then we're about to lose this thing hands down."

"Nobody on Galen's team is a marksman," Ned said in response. "So there's no surprise there. Even if the other teams lose, _we're_ going to win when it's our turn."

Jane didn't say anything, and instead watched closely as the next set began a minute later, the two sides shaking hands as they started. The same staccato erupted in the range, and Jane squinted to see if she could spot any targets being hit. Either they were too far away for her to pick them out, or she overlooked them. Once again, the gunfire came to a cease. Except this time, the score was even worse - the recruit squad had won 25 to 0.

"If we need to be that good on the frontlines, then I might have to transfer to the Navy," Jane heard Wagner say. One minute, it was the Air Force - the next minute, it was the Navy. She frowned and glanced at him briefly.

"Hey - _snap out of it._ That goes for all of you," Jane said. "If you've got nothing worth saying, then keep it to yourself."

The rest of the sets went more or less the same, with the recruits winning largely uncontested. The drill instructor had trained them well, that was no doubt. Of course, Ned the Skeptic wasn't impressed at all by the performance, but the results didn't lie. They were simply better. Finally, Jane's team got called to the shooting range for the last set. By now, the 'contest' was already over, and everything else was just a matter of course.

"Save the best for last, right, Ramirez?" Commander Gree asked the drill instructor. It was then that Jane realized that the two must've known each other for quite some time. There was definitely a familiarity between the two. Maybe they'd served alongside one another at some point in time.

Ramirez shouted at his recruits, one of their squads getting up and double-timing it to the shooting station. Everything he said to his recruits was a shout.

Jane lined her team up, and then got into position at the rear of the line behind Ned, so that she would go last. The recruits lined up a few feet next to them, and their squad leader did the same as she did, standing in line across from her. It was the same guy from earlier, with the grey eyes. He was a few inches taller than her, and had a small but noticeable cut splitting his left eyebrow in two. There was a second small cut on his chin. He had a very serious face, but was definitely the same age as Jane. Up close, she could read his nametag properly. He turned towards her and met her gaze momentarily.

Jane snapped her eyes forward.

"You're strange," Jane heard him say.

"Excuse me?" Jane said, turning towards him again.

"I'm just saying. I don't know why, but you're always looking at me like I did something wrong. Strange."

"Who do you think you are?"

"Who do I think _I_ am? Outside, you were frowning at me. In here, you've been mugging me. Strange."

"You're a squad leader. In fact, you're the recruit platoon leader. You should know how to act in or out of a formation. Your drill instructor should've taught you that."

"What?" he said, incredulously. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Jane was about to give a sharp response, but checked herself. _Who is this guy supposed to be?_

After several moments of recalibrating the targets on the range, the drill instructor signaled for them to begin. At the front of the line, Amanda unslung her rifle and stepped to her firing station, going prone on her belly and checking her sights. Her opponent, a recruit who was relatively small compared to his comrades, took up position off to the right. A loud buzzer rang out from speakers embedded into the ceiling far above, signaling the start of the exercise.

The first target cropped up fairly closely, at around 75 meters. The recruit opened fire and knocked it down in his first shot; it all happened in the space of about 2 seconds. The light next to his shooting station flashed once to signify that he did indeed score the hit. Amanda hadn't even fired. The second target popped up, this time much farther away. This time, Amanda hit the target first. The next two targets went in the same order, with the recruit scoring the next hit, and Amanda scoring the one after. Which meant that the next one to score a hit would win a point for their team.

The target rose up far off in the distance. Amanda fired, but she missed. The recruit knocked the target down half a second later, and scored their team a point. Jane closed her eyes and sighed briefly.

The next matchups went back and forth. Sparkley went after Amanda, and won to tie it up. Then Wagner went after that and, of course, lost. He was the worst shot on the team. He really didn't fit in the marines, in truth. The officers might end up cutting him from the academy before too long.

Ned went next and managed to win a close one. That left Jane to go last.

Who ever won this matchup would take the set. The recruits had already taken the overall competition, but Jane still had a chance to at least win something for the cadets. All she had to do was beat this guy. No pressure.

Jane stepped over to Amanda. "Gonna need your gun."

Amanda checked the magazine and then handed it over. "Beat his ass."

Jane took the rifle and lined back up next to the recruit.

"Good luck," he said.

"Shut up," Jane told him. She heard him scoff and mumble something that sounded like 'strange'.

The drill instructor signaled for them to take their positions. Jane walked over to the lefthand firing station and went prone, her thumb flicking the safety off. She loosened the muscles in her back and relaxed her posture. After that, she took a deep breath. A few moments later, the buzzer rang off, signaling the start.

The simulated forest began shifting, as if there was a strong wind blowing through it. It caught Jane off guard for the briefest of moments, and she almost didn't spot the first target when it propped up. About 310 meters down the range, far off to the right, just behind a pair of bushes. Jane sighted right at the base of the neck and fired. Half a thought later, the chest of the target lit up and the light above her station flashed.

The second target was moving through the forest about 80 meters out. It ran parallel to the firing stations. Jane placed her sights on the right edge of the target and fired. And again, she scored a hit, this time nailing the target in its left arm.

With two down, all Jane needed to do was get one last target. If she did that, then at worst, her team would win the set by 1 target. And they'd score at least a point for the cadets.

This time, the target was straight ahead at around 65 meters, standing right between two trees. Easy shot. Jane adjusted her aim and went for a body shot-

-and then the target's head lit up. There was a visible hole right in the center of its forehead. And Jane hadn't even finished aiming. In her peripheral vision, she could see the light above the recruit's station flashing.

The next target came up almost immediately, far off in the distance. A tall plant was waving back and forth in front of it. Jane bit her lip, aimed, and then fired. Half a second later, nothing happened. A clean miss. Just before she could shoot again, the recruit fired a round that hit the target square in the head.

Jane blinked twice and focused at best she could. One last chance to get a win.

Several hundred meters out in the distance, a target propped downwards from a tree branch. There was so much foliage in the way that the target was almost hidden from view. Jane held her breath and loosened her back muscles a bit. It took her a moment or two to line up a shot.

She fired at the same time as the recruit. A split-second later, the chest of the target lit up. Jane continued to hold her breath, her grip on the assault rifle tight as a vise. It took another two seconds before the target registered who shot it.

In her peripheral vision, Jane saw the light flash twice above the recruit's station. He'd hit it, and she'd missed. She sighed slowly and let go of the rifle.

"That's a wrap," the Instructor called out.

Jane stood and wiped her hands on her legs. The recruit platoon leader stepped over to her firing station, his hand held out. "You're pretty good."

He'd taken his helmet off, revealing buzzcut jet-black hair. There was another scar, this one splitting his hair for 2 inches before running down his forehead. Wow, he had quite a story on his head alone.

Jane hesitated for a moment, and then shook his hand. "Likewise."

 **1354 Hours Military Standard Time**

 **8 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, _Gamma Station_**

 **In high orbit above planet Reach.**

* * *

Rear Admiral Bren J. Shepard stepped off the pelican, straightened his uniform, and took a quick glance around the docking bay. Equipment loaders infested the area, transport warthogs diced across the massive bay, and crates of missiles and other ammunition were piled up on both the landing floor, as well as the second floor up above that circled the bay. A young Navy Petty Officer stood at salute off to his right. Bren returned the salute.

"Good to see you, sir. The meeting's starting in a few minutes."

Bren read her nametag. "Then take me there, Diaz."

"Sir, right this way." Diaz did an about-face and strutted for the nearest exit, Bren following closely behind.

It'd taken far too long for him to get off of Anchor 9. A handful of battered ships had recently just arrived, coming off of a brutal engagement with a small number of Covenant warships. So the refit station had been in quite a tumultuous situation as all hands worked to handle the sudden influx of navy seamen and broken frigates. All of the transport vessels were busy, so Bren had been forced to wait for one to free up.

"Busy day here on Gamma as well, I see," Bren commented as they passed through a set of doors.

"Yes, sir. Battlegroup Leviathan is undergoing a combat-readiness program today, so there's quite a bit of excitement," Diaz replied. She led the way onto an elevator that was empty of personnel.

"Can never be too ready," he said.

"Yes, sir."

The doors to the elevator opened several moments later, revealing the somewhat illustrious command floor. The floor was operating with a full crew. Staff officers paced the floor in groups, and there was a lot of commotion. The combat-readiness exercise was definitely happening soon.

After a few turns and a few long hallways, they made it to a set of double doors. The UNSCDF symbol was embroidered on the doorway, trimmed in an ethereal gold, making an impressive work of art.

"They're right inside, sir."

"Thank you, Diaz." Bren took a deep breath, and then entered the room.

A massive roundtable covered most of the room, with a hologram floating in the center of it, it's luminescent blue glow casting shadows across the dark room. Although the lights were dimmed, Bren could easily recognize the faces in here. There were about 8 officers in total. He scanned the entirety of the room, noticing that most of the seats were taken. Bren gave a sharp salute and took a seat next to a familiar face - Janessa Vette. A woman he'd served alongside for the entirety of his career.

"Nice of you to join us, Shepard," Rear Admiral Janessa Vette whispered from his right.

"Busy day."

Across the room, the living legend Stanforth himself leaned onto the table, hands clasped. It'd been over four years since Bren had last laid eyes on the man in person. During the final days of Cole's era. Back when shit was really starting to hit the fan. Stanforth was like a wraith in the Navy, always there, but never outside the shadows. ONI was to thank for that. But the man was probably the most respected - and feared, for good reason - UNSC serviceman alive. Bren respected Stanforth. But he feared no man.

"Bren. It's been a while. How fare you?" Stanforth's voice was the same as ever. It sounded borderline hoarse, and quiet. The voice of a man who'd spent decades shouting orders.

"Better than I could be."

Stanforth nodded his head before directing his attention to the hologram floating above the table. "Now that we're all here, we can properly begin.

"What we're looking at is... The Lambda Aurigae system," Stanforth said, his hand gesturing towards the hologram. "Most of you are familiar with it. Of the Outer Colonies... it's one of the more populated regions. Over 42 million people in total, situated mainly on Roost and her moons, and the water-world Aquallius."

As he said the words, the corresponding celestial bodies flashed green on the hologram. Bren had been to Roost years ago. It was a tourist resort for those who could afford it, and a quiet homestead for the natives. It's gravity was more forgiving than Reach. And it had good wine.

Janessa Vette whispered in his ear, "Officer's Leave, '35. Remember that boar we caught?"

Bren ignored the memory and refocused his attention.

"A few weeks ago, a remote listening outpost on the edge of the system caught a whisper. A small reconnaissance flotilla was dispatched to investigate, and only one ship returned. All others were lost to an encroaching Covenant war party of around 8 ships."

Bren bit his lip, thinking intensely. Covenant war parties were typically small-scale flotillas, mainly composed of frigates. Whenever they came upon a system, they slaughtered everything in their path. Glassed every human world they came across. And they took no prisoners - instead, they fed the captured to grunts and jackals. They were the bane of the Outer Colonies, and the UNSC had never done much to stop them. It was a simple, brutal calculation; the loss of the required UNSC forces outweighed the loss of Outer Colony civilians and worlds. The risk was not considered worth it. Bren had come to grips with such calculations early on in his career. But why was Stanforth talking about Lambda Aurigae?

"You are all well aware of the... State of affairs of the war. Normally, we wouldn't dispatch reinforcements to beat down such an attack. But we're not facing normal circumstances." Stanforth's eyes jumped to Bren. Bren met his gaze.

"That's where _you_ come in, Shepard."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Stanforth gave a brief, extremely rare smile. "You've always been direct, Shepard. I've always admired that about you." The hologram spun into a representation of a Punic-class supercarrier. Bren recognized the ship because he'd been working on the design and outfitting of it for the past few months. It was the _Despair's Light._

We're sending the Ninth Fleet in for a critical mission in the system, codename Operation BROADSWEEP. And it's going to be black ink. We need you operating as Fleet Admiral."

"No," Bren responded immediately, shaking his head. "Can't do it."

"You _can_ do it, Shepard. That's why I'm reaching out to you - that's why you're in this room. Hell, you made the Ninth Fleet."

Bren shook his head again. "You should send Keyes. He's more fit for the job than I am, and he has the credentials. He should've been made Admiral."

"You're a modest man, Bren. And you're a reasonable one. So give me reasons why you don't want to do this."

It took a moment for Bren to compose his thoughts. In truth, he probably was the most qualified officer available to lead such mission. He looked around the room briefly, and all eyes were on him. Stanforth knew how to work these military-political games well, Bren had to give him credit. There was a reason why Stanforth was doing this here, with this set of officers present. Bren _could_ refuse, but that would burn bridges with a number of people present here. And as much as he hated to admit it, Bren needed some of those bridges.

He didn't need those bridges _that_ much, though. "I've given everything to the Navy. I didn't even get to watch my daughter grow up. But my wife is here, on Reach. I'm not throwing away this chance to finally be close to at least someone in my family. Once I'm done working out the details on the Ninth Fleet, I'm going to be working in Olympic Tower. I can't lose that."

"I respect that, Bren, I really do. But you know as well as I do that we don't have certain privileges. We don't have that available to us - a life where we can spend time with those we care about. That's what we're _fighting_ for," Stanforth replied. Everyone in the room had gotten fixed on the argument, their eyes jumping back and forth between Bren and Stanforth.

"You're right Stanforth. That is what we're fighting for. It's just that my place isn't on the frontlines anymore. My place isn't on the bridge of a carrier, sending people to their deaths," Bren fired back. Bren had been in that position before, commanding men and women, ordering them to their deaths for little to nothing. Been there, done that. Didn't like it. Moved on.

Stanforth sifted through some papers in front of him, and pulled out one in particular. He took a moment to glance over it intensely, and then redirected his attention on Bren. "Cole spoke highly of you, Bren. This page in my hand is a transcript from a part of his journal - a journal he kept even in the latest years of his life, while on campaign."

Bren said nothing. He closed his eyes briefly, and then stared down into his hands. Admiral Preston J. Cole had been the epitome of UNSC service. Perhaps the reasonA man who'd done the impossible, for an extended period of time. But Bren wasn't Cole, and had no desire to be.

"You know what it says, right?" Stanforth asked.

Bren sighed. "Yes, I do."

"Cole would recommend you for this job, son."

"He probably would, but he's not here, unfortunately. I served right beneath him. I miss him. But he's not here anymore. This is _my_ decision, Stanforth. I've earned at least that much."

Stanforth sighed and pulled out another piece of paper. "You mentioned your daughter."

Bren leaned forward over the table and looked right into Stanforth's eyes.

"Commander Gree, her CI at the academy, says she's set to graduate top of the class. She's brilliant. Now, as you know, it's not in my hands, but PERSCOM is going to put her in command of a platoon in the 76th Marine Regiment. One of the regiments assigned to the Ninth Fleet."

Bren didn't know that. _Jesus_ , he didn't know that. They were putting her onto the _76th!?_

Bren had been working hard over the last few months as the main designer of the Ninth Fleet. He'd personally selected the 76th; they were a Special Tasks marine regiment, one with a high casualty rate, but for a good reason. In truth, the 76th were one of the more elite regiments, made up of some of the best. He'd put them onto the Ninth Fleet, because Bren had known that the Ninth Fleet would be a strictly frontlines task force. The Ninth Fleet needed the best. God, no.

"The 76th, huh?" Bren asked.

"Yes. I know what you're thinking, Bren. I know, trust me. But I need to ask you one last time. Are you in?" Stanforth asked.

Bren closed his eyes. The Ninth Fleet was going to be doing some of the heaviest fighting of the war over the next year, at the least. And Jane was going to be right in the middle of it.

"Alright, Stanforth. I'm in."


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

 **0858 Hours R-WST**

 **11 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complexplanet Reach**

 **Highland Mountains Combat Training Area D-1**

* * *

"We beat Earth that year, I _know_ you remember. 'Cause they upset the Martian Stormers in the quarter-finals."

"No, that's not right. You're thinking of that year we had the rookie goalkeeper, the guy from Pluto. We lost that game by a huge margin."

"Dude, you're doing this on purpose. We made that 25-credit bet, and you betted that Earth would kick our asses. I just wanna know when I'm gonna get my money, dude."

"I made a bet that Earth would beat us, but I didn't say _when_ they'd beat us. Also, we didn't shake on it. So I'm good."

"Awh, bullshit. You know we were talking about playoffs that year."

"Tell you what - we make a new deal. Thirty credits says these officer kids give us no worries at all. If they actually give us problems, I owe you thirty."

"Let's shake on it."

"You're on," Mago said as he shook Anysus' hand.

Mago checked his chronometer. He turned to the rest of the squad. "Alright everyone, exercise starts in one minute. We go in, we get the flag, and we get out; no problems at all."

Today was the last field training exercise they'd do as recruits. And their opponent was a team of officer cadets from the academy. The goal was simple: a single flag was set up in the middle of the area, and whichever team captured it would win. Or wipe the other team out entirely. This was the final training exercise, because one week from now would be graduation. Mago would be moving on to the 76th Marine Regiment. Anysus's MOS had gotten switched by PERSCOM a month ago, and he would be moving on to Marine Corps of Engineers, serving in the Hades Corps. PERSCOM deemed that his skill-set would be best used off the frontlines.

Over the past two months, Master Sergeant Ramirez had pitted the best squad - Mago's squad - up against the top cadet team from the officer's academy. Every time, it was the exact same team. The one led by that girl Mago had outshot at the range way back when. And she was good. Damn good. Of the 5 times Mago's squad went up against her team in combat exercises, she'd won every single one.

Mago was going to win this one. At all costs.

He glanced around at his squad. All five status symbols were green on his eyepiece. Everyone was focused on the task at hand. Everyone except Slingshot. During the last handful of days, something had been off with Slingshot. Mago couldn't tell what it was. Slingshot had a distant look in his eyes, as if he was distracted by something. It'd been like that ever since day one.

Slinging his BR55, Mago headed over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey - you good, man?"

"I'm not supposed to ... be here," Slingshot whispered.

"What?"

"Nothing, man. I'm good, I'm good."

Mago could tell that he was lying, but didn't press the issue. "You need to get it together," Mago told him, giving him a little shake. "Because we only get one shot at this. Don't screw up."

Slingshot didn't say anything, and instead pushed Mago's hand off.

Mago had to keep an eye on him.

The chronometer vibrated on his wrist. They had 30 seconds before the start. Mago checked his topographical map one last time. The entire operation area was only about 2 square kilometers. Sitting in the base of a deep valley, the air here was much warmer than usual, and the terrain wasn't as hilly as it could be. The past few months had seen the recruits perform combat training all across the planet; from environments as cold as the poles on New Carthage, to hot swamps teeming with dangerous wildlife. They'd spent an entire week living in an arid desert known as Hell's Kitchen, a place where only the most dangerous of Reach's animals lived. One recruit had got bitten by an Irasciblist, and had died a fortnight later in the medical station. Irasciblists were a species of snakes native to Reach, and their poison could kill almost anything organic.

Mago folded his map up and tucked it away. "Alright, let's go. Staggered formation, 5 meter spread. I'm on point. Karyo, you take the rear. Move."

Overhead, a pair of massive birds swooped above the tree canopy. Long shadows crept across the forest. Mago kept to those shadows, his head low, and moved slowly but carefully. It would be about 10 minutes before they got to the flag zone.

"Hand signals from here on," Mago said as he stepped around a massive tree.

There was a lot of movement to see, but it was all animals. Early on, the recruits had been trained to spot even the slightest of movements. How to spot things that didn't belong. It wasn't easy, and it required constant focus. Mago had walked into one of the cadet girl's traps before, and had learned from his mistake.

Moving through a forest like this was somewhat taxing. Clambering over logs, watching your step, keeping your eyes sharp and your weapon drawn, and maintaining a fast pace was far from easy. The heat didn't help either. Master Sergeant Ramirez claimed that, a couple years back, his platoon had been hit hard by a large force of grunts and jackals. Apparently, he'd had to carry his CO on his back through a forest much like this, all the while trying to keep ahead of the pursuing Covenant. Mago wasn't sure if he bought that, but then again, Ramirez was the definition of hardcore. Mago was just thankful that he had a map to guide where he was going. The flag zone wasn't much further ahead.

A creek flowed downhill from their 3 O'clock, sweeping through the forest and carving a path westwards towards the objective. It was about 10 yards wide, and although its waters were calm, it looked to be about waist-deep. Crossing the creek would cost some time, but it would give them access to higher ground, which was favorable.

Mago held up his fist and signaled for the squad to form up. He then shot off another series of handsigns quickly. Then he pointed to each member of the squad.

In the creek was a series of rocks and natural formations, all covered with some type of moss. There was enough to make it across without having to get into the water. Crossing inside the creek itself would take twice the time, make noise, and be generally inefficient.

Mago crouched down behind a tree trunk and kept his gun trained downstream. JD went first across the creek. Mago glanced over his shoulder briefly and saw JD hopping from one rock to the next, his footing precise. It took about a minute. Making it to the other side, JD ducked into cover, out of sight. Anysus went next, followed by Karyo. They made it across in roughly the same amount of time.

Slingshot went last. Mago checked over his shoulder again, and saw Slingshot about halfway across, nearly slipping into the water. Slingshot had to get to his knees and hug the rock he was on to keep from falling. _Damn it._ Slowly, Slingshot stood back up on wobbly legs, and made it to the next rock.

Mago redirected his attention back ahead. They were losing valuable time. Just as Mago sighed, he thought he caught a glimpse of something metallic, briefly reflecting the sun about 80 yards downstream on his side of the creek. He immediately brought the scope of his rifle to bear, tightening his grip and scanning carefully. Within, he could feel his heart rate take a small increase. But he couldn't spot anything obvious. Maybe he was being jumpy.

The instant Slingshot got past the halfway spot, there was a thudding, slightly muffled hail of gunshots. Tree branches, leaves and bushes shimmered and broke apart as rounds collided with them. TTR rounds kicked up water and whizzed past Slingshot. At the same time, Mago received a blistering assault, blowing away tree chips and nearly dropping Mago on the spot. He ducked down low.

"Return fire - weapons free!" Mago shouted over to his squad. Slingshot made it across the creek in record time, leaped off the final rock, rolled onto his belly and crawled out of sight. He hadn't been hit, amazingly.

Mago squeezed his trigger, aiming at where he thought the fire was coming from. Returning fire slammed into the side of the tree - dangerously close to his head. He ducked into cover for a brief moment, and then fired a few more rounds. His ammo counter dropped to 12.

Staying in this position was perilous. They needed to close the distance, and move fast. The cadets were probably making a play for the flag right now.

Across the creek, Mago caught the eye of Anysus. Mago had relied on Anysus' creative genius numerous times in the past, and had rationally made him second-in-command. He threw up a series of hand signals to Anysus: Press forward cautiously, shoot-to-hit, probe the objective.

Anysus returned an ohkay sign. Mago rolled over onto his stomach and pushed down the stream, keeping as small a target as possible. A storm of TTR rounds sizzled around him, snapping thin tree branches and twigs, and kicking up dirt in a vicious torrent. It was quite a lot of fire - but it was all just suppressive bullshit, so as long as he kept to the ground, they wouldn't hit. He had to rely on Anysus to move in on them. From memory, Mago thought he knew where the shots were coming from, based on where he thought he'd saw the movement.

He rolled into a ditch and landed softly onto his back, his entire form covered in dirt, smearing his gear. A trio of rounds hit the earth just where he'd been a second ago. The ditch provided good cover, though. He took a second to swap magazines, and then pulled out his map, wiping the mud from around his eyes and thinking hard. According to his map, and the orientation of the creek relative to the objective, he was able to calculate where the cadets were most likely holed up. That was the first and most important goal in combat - to know where your enemy is.

They must've been moving fast - _very_ fast. The cadet girl must've felt that she could set up position around the flag before Mago's squad could reach it. Thereby lying in ambush as they moved in on the site. But they hadn't opened fire until Slingshot had started crossing. There was a reason for that. Hm.

Hm. They were fast, but not _that_ fast. They hadn't set up position quick enough. By the time they'd gotten their sights on Slingshot, the rest of Mago's squad had already made it across the creek and to the other side. Two possibilities, then. Her team _could_ have spotted the rest of Mago's team make it across, but hadn't gotten dug-in properly, and so had decided to hold off until they were all in position before taking the shot. Or, alternatively, they only _just_ got set up, and had falsely assumed that Slingshot was the only one who'd gone for the crossover. In which case they'd be wrong.

Mago broke down the two possibilities, and assumed that it was the latter. It made more sense. They could've dropped Slingshot, while stopping the rest of the squad in its tracks. It was a juicier target. It would have been a better target to go for - more possible kills. Heavy suppressive fire. Could pin down his whole squad with the brunt of the team, and then send in one man to snatch the flag. Mago's squad wouldn't be able to do anything in such a situation, and the mission would be practically over. Which explained the volume of fire Mago was getting alone.

But Mago didn't know how to capitalize on that information. He knew what the gameplan was, but there was no ideal way of dealing with the gameplan. He couldn't move without risk of getting hit. He couldn't sit still, either. In combat, movement was key. Act instead of react. Stationary targets presented easy targets.

Mago crawled to the tip of the ditch and peeked above cover for two seconds. He'd spotted several shadowy figures dipping from cover to cover, on the other side of the creek, not too far away. They were moving towards the higher ground. They must have only now realized that the bulk of the squad was on that side. They were trying to match lines. Just as Mago was about to go for another look, a plume of dirt kicked up right in front of his face, showering him in muck.

"Damn it." Mago clenched his teeth. It was imperative that he get moving.

Mago popped up and unloaded half of his magazine in the tree line directly ahead. There was a cadet covering him from that direction. Then he fired a number of rounds across stream, just as he saw one of the cadets sprinting for cover. He couldn't tell if he hit. Then, he charged forward, leaping from the ditch and straightlining it for several seconds. Up ahead, there was a log splitting the ground perpendicular to Mago. Someone raised up from behind it, the muzzle of a rifle pointed at him.

Acting off of instinct, Mago dived to his left behind a bush, just in time - he'd have been gunned down had he hesitated. Landing hard, Mago used his momentum to roll sideways, lying prone with his battle rifle trained on the cadet. He immediately fired a series of shots as several TTR rounds narrowly missed him, and the cadet fell from sight just as the gun clicked empty. Instinctively, Mago reached for his sidearm and pushed forward to the log as fast as he could, sliding into cover on his side of it, watching the nearby woods hard. As expected, another cadet came running out of the brush, rushing to provide support for the fallen cadet. Mago opened fire, several of the rounds connecting. The cadet collapsed to the ground in a heap, his armor frozen from the TTR rounds.

Two status symbols went red on his eyepiece. A third went yellow. Mago had no way to know what the rest of his squad was up against, but it didn't look good.

Taking a moment to scan his surroundings carefully, crouched tightly behind the log, Mago assumed that his area was clear. He reloaded his battle rifle, and slid the M6 back into its holster. After a few more seconds of scanning, he clambered over the log, battle rifle in hand, and took a look at the first cadet. He was a young guy, with dark brown eyes, and skin the same color. The name Sparkley Worde was embroidered on his breastplate.

"You're good, man," Sparkley said, sprawled onto his back. Red blobs of paint were spattered across his upper torso and left shoulder. He used his right arm to scoot himself into a comfortable position.

Mago said nothing and moved forward. The other cadet had fallen face down, and had rolled over to his side, red paint covering his midsection and legs. This one had been using a battle rifle. Mago scooted over and took a couple of magazines off the cadet. As an added factor, the trainers only gave everyone very limited ammunition, to drill in the idea of calculating outside pressures into combat situations. A fight was more than a battle of aim and wits - small things like ammo could make the difference between life and death. A fact that Ramirez had often spoken of.

"I knew... I should have gone... to the Navy," the cadet said between breaths, his chest heaving up and down slightly.

Enough time had been lost. Silently, Mago cursed to himself as he headed off towards the flag zone. The first rule of a combat situation was to know where your enemy is located. But the second rule was just as important - keep your force together. Getting separated was bad, and Mago had foolishly let it happen. He'd read several books last year that spoke on the evolution of small-scale, local tactics. It'd spoken about the importance of having a unified force, capable of adapting to the situation as one body. Because the more fragmented a group got, the more vulnerable it became. Mago was on his own now, and he had a key decision to make. He could either try and regroup with the rest of his squad - or, he could make a move for the flag and attack the objective. Solo.

The yellow status light in his eyepiece suddenly went red. Mago took the time to tap a few buttons on the side of his helmet, bringing up the complete squad roster list. Slingshot was the only one left. Mago tapped another button, and the full roster display closed. Normally, Mago wouldn't hesitate to support his allies. But he couldn't help the feeling that one of the cadets was probably going to move on the flag. Probably was taking it now. That's what Mago would've done, if he was in command of their team. With such an advantage in ground, the cadets could afford to make such a play. It was up to Mago to stop it.

He pressed forward hard, weapon at the ready. The flag wasn't too far away. In the distance, he could barely make out the sound of of trading gunfire. Somewhere, someone was still shooting at something. Mago had dipped deep into the woods, and couldn't even see the creek from his position. The volume of trees and bushes had grown somewhat, and every other step, Mago had to move around another obstacle. The faintest edges of fatigue were starting to get to him, but he could keep on for quite some time. Every now and then, he would stop abruptly, listening closely to his surroundings. He'd been taught early on the benefits of listening. Many times, things that would be missed through sight could be picked up on by hearing. But there wasn't anything special to hear.

After reaching the edge of a small ridge, Mago ducked into the shadows and pulled out his map briefly. He was at the edge of the flag zone. The flag was up ahead somewhere in the local area.

Mago went prone and crawled his way forward beneath bushes and plant stems, his gloved hands digging into the earth, pulling himself forward. Small insects scurried around, but he ignored them. For the briefest of moments, he had a flashback to a couple of months ago. Ramirez had made the recruits crawl through a pit of mud filled with royal beetles, barbwire hovering over a few inches over their heads. Those who hadn't made it through in time had been subject to a week in the Deathfield. Mago had made it through with seconds to spare.

After a few minutes of crawling, he made it to a line of bushes. Slowly, he got to his feet and took a long look around. Off in the distance, to his left, about 50 yards away in the open, stood a flag. It was located at the top of a pile of rocks and boulders, about 10 feet off the ground. Before he took his first step, he spotted a cadet emerging from the shadows on the far side of the flag, heading towards it. Mago raised his battle rifle and took aim, making sure that he'd land the shot. Looking through the scope, he recognized the cadet - it was the girl, the one leading their team. She made it up the rocks in good time and reached for the flag.

 _Gotcha._

Just before he took the shot, he heard a sudden pounding of footsteps to his right. In immediate reaction, he swung around, weapon raised. Then he got hit - _tackled, hard,_ and tumbled through the air. The force of the blow knocked out his breath, and his gun went flying somewhere. Together, he and the cadet crashed into the ground. In one fluid motion, the cadet tossed him with the momentum, and Mago went rolling a few feet away. Mago got to his knees and tried to rise to his feet, until he felt a pair of hands grab him. He was lifted up, and then shoved into a tree. A heavy blow struck his chin and sent his head reeling to the side, nearly dazing him. Then another blow landed in his lower-mid section.

And then his training kicked in. Mago focused, and saw the next blow coming. He raised his arm and blocked the attack. And then he ducked beneath the follow-up. At the same time, he pressed forward and drove the massive cadet backwards, opening up some space. He threw two quick jabs into the cadet's stomache, and then went for a heavy right-hand blow. It was a partial-hit onto the top of the cadet's helmet, and did nothing but hurt Mago's knuckles. But he saw the next attack coming as well. Mago stepped into the haymaker and caught the cadet's arm, then stepped close. He kneed the cadet hard, and then put his right leg behind the guy's left leg and shoved him to the ground, but the cadet held on tight and Mago fell with him. The guy was the size of a mountain. They hit the ground together, once again, but this time Mago was ready. Instead of getting tangled up, he rolled sideways onto his knees, and then gave the cadet another knee, this time in the ribs.

The guy grabbed Mago by the collar and yanked him off to the side. _Damn, he's freaking strong._ Mago fell on his backside and scrambled backwards, but the cadet got up quick and pressed him. Kicking his legs out, Mago swept the cadet off his feet once again.

Instead of going back in to fight, Mago went for his sidearm and finished the duel with 4 precise TTR rounds. The cadet slouched into the ground slowly, breathing heavily

He'd lost his battle rifle in the fight, and didn't have time to look for it. The cadet team leader had the flag, and was heading back to her dropoff point. Mago had to catch her. He got to his feet, reloaded his M6, and sprinted off towards the flag stand. It was empty - she'd taken it and moved on, just like he'd guessed.

Mago looked around carefully and spotted a trail leading off to the west, heading deep into a heavily forested area where little sunlight got through. He took off, moving as fast as he could, though keeping his attention at the ready just in case. The M6 was starting to feel heavy in his hands. It'd been a long day.

Last month, the drill instructors had taught the recruits how to properly track anything from the smallest squirrel to even some birds. Mago's skill was still rudimentary though. The cadet's tracks were hard to keep up with - either that was a byproduct of Mago's somewhat clumsy tracking skills, or she was good at moving lightfooted. The trail had long since ebbed away.

It was then that Slingshot's status light went _grey_. It caught Mago off-guard, and he had to stop for a moment to think. A grey status light meant either 1 of 2 things. Either the notification system in the helmet had been destroyed, or the notification system was entirely out of range from the closest squadmate. Neither of those two made any sense. TTR rounds were hard-hitting, but they never pierce the bulletproof armor coating of the helmet, let along destroy the live status feed chip embedded within. But it made absolutely no sense for Slingshot to leave the operation area. There was some explanation; had to be. Maybe he'd lost his helmet somehow, and a Nightingale Eagle had taken it. Nightingales were know for scavenging pieces of UNSC equipment, if given the opportunity. And they were definitely strong enough to carry a helmet.

Hm. Taking a quick knee, Mago checked the earth around him. She wasn't too far ahead. There was a pair of snapped twigs, and a flattened flower stem that was still rising upright to correct itself. She was close. She was getting sloppy.

Mago proceeded with caution and opened his ears, listening for the faintest of sounds. Though he could hear nothing, he could sense that he was upon her. He pressed forward with swift steps, head down low, pistol raised in front. Up ahead was a small ridgeline, with a rodent crawling along its tip. The small animal took a quick look at something on the other side, and then scurried out of sight. She was right over there. Shadows crept over wood in a mesmerizing pattern, shifting in tune with unseen animals and changing daylight. Mago pushed up the small rise, took a deep breath, and then peered over, gun at the ready.

There was nothing but more forest as far as he could see. He stood there for several seconds, but didn't spot any movement, not even any animals. And then, he heard the snapping of a leaf from behind.

 _No._

First, he turned and saw the cadet team leader standing there, a pistol in one hand, and the flag in the other. Next, he gave her a long, angry stare. Then he felt a series of hard impacts all over his torso and collapsed to his back, armor frozen. TTR rounds hurt, bad. His own status light blinked, changing into an ominous red. Staring up into the sky, Mago let out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

After a series of soft footsteps, the cadet stepped up to Mago, looming over him, her gaze impossible to read. The sun was blotted out by too many tree limbs, and she was covered in shadows.

"You know, you fell for that same trap once before," she said, letting the flag fall off to the side.

Mago sighed. "Old habits die hard."

She knelt down closer, and Mago could actually see her now. Her amber eyes ran across his face for a few moments, but she didn't say anything, and her expression was emotionless - as usual.

He glanced at her nametag, although he still remembered her name from the first time they went against each other. She was Jane Shepard. Word around Echo Sordei was that her father was some highly decorated - and highly skilled - naval officer who'd served under Admiral Cole. That probably explained why she was such a good officer cadet.

"You're good, I'll admit. Creative. But you got lucky this time," Mago told her, and he meant it.

* * *

Jane Shepard examined him. He'd gotten two new small, shallow cuts on his face since she'd first seen him. Other than that, he had an otherwise unremarkable appearance. Jane knew who he was - it was the same recruit who'd always put up a challenge. His name was something like Maggie, or Magel, or something weird like that.

Just as she was about to give a sharp retort, a sharp wailing sound began to pierce the skies above. Over the course of the next few seconds, it grew considerably louder. There was another sound - this one an explosion. Jane looked up just in time to see an aircraft spinning out of control, flames and black smoke plumes trailing as it sped towards the ground out of sight. It looked like an F-41 Broadsword, but had flown by too fast. A second later, another pair of Broadswords swooped overhead. A missile contrail tailed the aircrafts, as well as a series of massive tracer rounds. There was a set of explosions, and a sudden boom reverberating across the ground.

A swarm of dark red strike fighters crossed the skies a moment later.

"What is this?" the recruit asked from the ground.

Jane had no idea; she was just as confused. Off in the distance, a crescendo of muffled explosions, and what sounded like sporadic gunfire, erupted. A second later, another series of howling engines cut through the air. This time, a small fleet of dark red pelicans and falcons creeped past, their cannons blazing at an unseen target. There was no mistaking - this was live, deadly ammunition in use. They were moving slow enough for Jane to make out details. On the sides were large, white-painted insignias. Jane inhaled sharply, her heart jumping. The recruit must have noticed it as well.

"Unlock my armor. Hurry up!" Mago said. Jane was stunned into silence for a brief moment. "Hey!"

"Sit still," she said as she went to roll him over onto his front.

"Yeah, I think I got that cover-" He was cut off by a face full of dirt.

She did the coding on the small computer connected to his armor, and then he slumped to the ground momentarily as the armor relaxed.

"It's them. The insurrectionists, the URF," Jane said. Overhead, more aircraft continued heading east, towards the Officers' Academy.

"I saw," Mago commented, wiping mud from his face. "We need to get our squads together, and then get back to base, fast - they probably have infantry scouting these woods."

Jane walked past him and looked off into the direction of the academy. "They're attacking the academy, from the west. Which means that if we want to get back there, we're going to have to get past their lines. And that means it's best if we take an indirect route."

Mago stepped up next to her, looking down at a map he'd conjured from somewhere. "Not necessarily," he said. "See this line right here? It's a drainage pipe that runs straight through the Academy. And it's a direct route. We can get into it here," he pointed to a spot not too far from the training preserve.

"We can't. The only place we can get out is right next to the Communications Hub. They've overran that," Jane pointed out.

He looked over at her, confusion in his brow. "How do you know that?"

"It's an easy target, on the edge of the Academy. And it's the most logical place to take out first - snip our comms systems. And it explains why," Jane tapped the TACPAD on her left forearm, "we haven't gotten any instructions or alerts."

Jane studied him for a moment. He seemed to mull over her words, weighing them. Jane knew he would concur. Of all the times she'd gone against him in training, he'd proven to be a skilled tactician. Not quite outstanding, but definitely good. Good enough to take Officer Cadet training without much trouble. Jane had underestimated him in their first combat exercise, and had actually almost lost. Almost.

Several moments later, he said "Alright. So what, then?"

"First, we need to get our teams. You know where yours are, right?"

"Yeah. I think."

"You 'think'?" Jane asked him.

He folded his map and it disappeared from sight. "I'll find my guys, you go get yours, and we'll RV at the entry yard."

Jane was about to walk off without further discussion, until he called after her.

"One of your guys - a big dude. He's over by the flag zone."

Jane didn't say anything, and continued forward. She knew where Ned was. Ned had run out of ammo in the fight with several of the recruits on the higher ground. When she made the move for the flag, she sent Ned to head off Mago. She'd made a heuristic calculation, and had expected that Ned would win. At least buy her enough time to take the flag home. But she'd been wrong on that one. Again, she'd almost lost due to underestimating her enemy. That was something she needed to change.

On her own, she had time to process what was happening. The situation felt surreal, almost unbelievable. Jane had to fight off the sense of nausea that'd infiltrated her. It'd stunned her into inaction, although for the briefest of moments.

Heading towards Ned, Jane checked her TACPAD for anything from base. Any comms of any sort. The lack of communications was disturbing, and brought with it far-reaching problems. The Academy wouldn't be able to alert any of the nearby installations. Without any support, the forces of the Academy would have to stand against the rebels for the time being. However, the Academy was part-school, part-military fort. Although some of it was dedicated to training officer cadets, the other half of it was a standing base, stocking most things that'd be found on a true UNSC military installation. There were around a thousand servicemembers stationed there, most of them either Army Troopers or Marine forces. The rest were mostly officers from all branches.

If the URF managed to destroy the Academy, it'd be a hardfelt blow to the Reach military infrastructure. The potential loss of numerous officers would be devastating, to say the least.

Jane came across Ned. He'd managed to crawl over to a nearby log, his back resting against it.

"It's insurrectionists, isn't it?" Ned asked.

Jane lifted him slightly so that she could get to the armor's computer interface. "They're going after the Academy, and hard. To be honest, I'm worried."

Ned flexed his shoulders and stretched as he got to his feet. "Look on the bright side - time to see which of us is right about Gree; this is his chance to prove the legend."

* * *

Commander Alexander Gree strutted through the Administration block of the Security Control Center, the floors and walls reverberating as explosives detonated in the surrounding area outside. Field corpsmen carried the wounded and dying on stretcher-bearers. The air smelled of rot, gunpowder, blood and smoke. A screaming comms officer lay twisted and mangled on the floor, his hand reaching up at some invisible target. Off to the side of the hallway crouched a shell-shocked Army trooper; Gree lifted the man to his feet, slapped him across the face, and ordered him to get a grip, and get a move on. Ammo cartridges rolled on the floor, knocked over from their crate in the mad confusion. Dust permeated everything, including Gree's own armor, and gave his umber skin an ash tone.

All of it was familiar to him. Gree had known and touched warfare before he'd even touched his first woman.

"Get that fire put out," he ordered to a team of custodians crouched in the corner. "Get this hole sandbagged - enemy forces might take that street." he ordered a pair of fresh cadets. "Get a spotter team set up on that balcony! Get a machine gun set up on the road outside! Get a fresh power generator up here!" He snapped off another handful of orders, and then strode into the control room.

Staff officers sat behind computers, their hands tapping frantically at keyboards. There was nobody in charge here. Gree headed straight to the front of the room, standing behind a number of low-ranked staff officers.

"Get me a full report - _now._ "

Gree's serious voice surprised the officers, and they momentarily glanced back to see who was giving order. Upon seeing who it was, they immediately went to work.

"The insurrectionist attack force is strong, sir. Based on satellite feeds we attained before the Communications Hub fell, and on what we can observe now, we estimate they have about 700 infantry fighters, supported by a small brigade of at least 100 tanks - several of them are MAAPs. And artillery support coming from somewhere far west," a young female officer said, her hands dancing across keyboards.

 _How in the hell did they get their hands on M145Ds? The Assault Platforms are top of the line._

The officer continued. "They also have air superiority, though we managed to launch 5 F-41 Broadsword strike teams before their assault hit us hard. None of our vultures are airborne, and we have teams guarding them." She tapped a button at the top of her keyboard and brought up a pair of maps on the viewscreen ahead. Red hostile indicators were swarming the western side of the base. "We were caught by surprise, so we only had a few marine squads out to meet them in first contact. They were overran, suffering huge casualties, and pushed us back. We managed to get a staggered frontline of about 300 infantrymen holding. But since our comms are down for the time being, our defense is scrappy at best, and we're mostly relying on local command to maintain the fight. URF forces are currently trying to drive us out of Lockheed's Armory in sector 14-D, and that's where the fighting's the thickest."

Gree nodded. Lockheed's Armory was crucial. If the insurrectionists took that sector, they'd have access to some heavyweight firepower, and could use it against the Academy.

She continued. "The bulk of our forces are engaged with the enemy, though we have several units on RTB from North-Northeastern Highlands. The rest of our troops are sitting tight here, and here," she pointed to several spots on the map. "We also have mechanized support on standby here. If we can retake the Northern Hall, we can get our backup comms system online."

"What's your name?" Gree asked the officer.

"Second Lieutenant Heather Grove, sir."

"Heather, get some runners in here - notify our armored columns to move up and take position along these routes," Gree said as he pointed out the locations on the map. Until they had effective comms, they'd have to rely on runners. A slow, old school process, but reliable. "And get 1st and 3rd platoons to reinforce the fight at Lockheed's. I'm going to deal with Northern Hall myself."

Gree turned without further instruction and headed back into the fray.

* * *

Corporal Jameson Ricks dived for cover, narrowly escaping a deadly frag grenade as it blew apart the civilian car he'd been behind. Several others weren't as quick, and were blown apart by the devastating explosion. Jameson was showered with drops of blood.

"Infantry, in the open! They're cutting across the street at 2 O'clock!" Someone shouted.

Jameson shook off the hurt, and sprinted for cover behind a toppled statue. He spotted innies charging out of cover, heading into the courtyard in front of Lockheed's Armory. He joined in as the rest of the nearby marines gunned down as many of them as possible, armor-piercing bullets ripping through them. Smoke and torn ligaments disbursed from the killed innies. The ammo counter ran dry on his MA5B, and Jameson primed a grenade and tossed it at them. They were making a desperate push to get into the armory. If they broke through, then the fighting would devolve into an all-out melee within the confines of the building. Jameson was outside of the armory itself, though. His group was tasked with holding the left flank.

As the grenade exploded, he reloaded his gun. Then he looked over his shoulder at a pair of marines taking cover behind him and shouted off an order. "Get that MG up here! Suppress those sons of bitches in that building, right there!"

Jameson got up again, this time sprinting for a series of barricades closer to the courtyard. He slid into cover and spotted another wave of innies pushing forward, this group much larger than the last. The sheer amount of gunfire forced Jameson to keep low, and he cursed beneath his breath. They were doing a joint-assault, pressing the courtyard and Jameson's group at the same time. Screams of pain rivaled the sounds of gunshots for supremacy. A rocket contrail streamed from a window across the street, and the blast knocked Jameson back several yards.

His hearing went out as he crashed into a pile of sandbags, vision dazed and head feeling as if it were underwater. Another marine landed on top of him. Jameson grabbed the marine, and realized that he was handling half of a dead, lifeless corpse, smoking from a series of gunshot wounds and shrapnel. Jameson tossed the half-body aside, staring blankly ahead. A warthog came tumbling from somewhere at the rear, its gun blazing at the incoming URF forces. The driver had been shot dead, and it crashed headfirst into a stone pillar, engine crumpled and smoking. Gusts of fire from an unseen flamethrower blazed the vehicle, and the gunner and several nearby troops went scrambling, their faces contorted in horror as they burned alive. Seconds later, a Falcon came falling out of the sky and detonated in a small plume, incinerating both insurrectionist and UNSC infantry alike.

Jameson shook his head clear, trying to get back to his feet. Before he could, he felt a hole open in his chest, and looked down to see a fatal gunshot wound. He collapsed back to the ground, just in time to see enemy forces spilling from cover across the street, confident in their attack on the armory. Jameson died seconds later.

But on the far side of the battlefield, on the right flank of the armory, Officer Cadet Freya Greenwald slipped on a puddle of blood and hit the ground. She frantically scrambled to her feet and could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat. Her eardrums had gone out several minutes earlier, lost completely after an enemy Scorpion tank detonated just in front of her.

Freya got to her feet, looking out across the expanse of the battlefield. The left flank looked like it was crumbling; after a number of failed charges, the URF soldiers had finally managed to get in close with the marines. It was a brutal, royal rumble. Her own side of the battlefield was just as intense.

A team of Orbital Drop Shock Troopers had been cutting down URF attacks for the better part of an hour, and the fighting had only gotten more violent since. She dived into cover to their left, several yards behind them next to the rear half of a destroyed bus, and laid down a crossfire over the courtyard. At least 70 URF soldiers were pinned down, trying to push forward on their bellies with what little cover they had. But so long as one of the flanks was secure, they wouldn't be able to gain much ground. A frontal assault was all that was available to them.

Freya thought for a moment. If they could get the proper numbers, then they could drive the URF back with a scissoring crossfire on the courtyard. If they had the right equipment, they could level any cover in it. In essence, they could bracket the courtyard and turn it into a killing field. It was the type of play Jane might go for. But without any good communications, all they could do was sit tight and fight hard. However, Freya could get back to the HQ and ask for the support in person.

Just as she was about to head back, an earth-ripping explosion hit their position hard. Freya covered up and felt debris pelt her back and helmet. Her hearing would've been cut off, had it not already been. She rose to her knees and glanced around. There was only a smoking crater left where the ODST squad had been moments earlier. A black ODST helmet with a cracked visor landed a few feet in front of her. Freya stared, unblinkingly, thrown into a state of traumatic stress. She nearly screamed when she realized that a head was still inside the helmet.

Staff Sergeant Horus Luperkall wasn't the type for screaming, and he wasn't going to be shaken that easily. He made it up a flight of stairs onto the second floor of Lockheed's Armory, stepping past wounded army troopers and marines the entire way. Small shockwaves gave the sensation of standing on a seaship in the middle of an ocean. Dust permeated the air, and the sound of concentrated gunfire spelled death for anything caught in its path. Civilians were lying about on this floor in droves; they were everywhere, shaken to the core from recent events. Half of them were kids - the remaining students from a field trip that'd been going on today. URF bombers had dropped their payloads early on in the fighting, and had scored direct hits on the kids' buses, destroying one of them completely. At least 53 children had been blown to pieces.

War is hell.

Sandbags and armor lockers had been put in place to cover several holes that'd been blown out of the western wall, and a number of marines were in position behind them, firing down on the encroaching innies. Lance Corporal Briggs led the way, carrying an M247 across his shoulder, the machine gun recently looted from one of the downstairs weapons' lockers. Horus followed behind, heavy crates of ammunition beneath each arm, as well as a belt of rounds slung around his neck. He fought to keep a grip on the equipment, though it wasn't easy with the shaky foundation.

They made it to the wall and collapsed into position. As Briggs got the MG set up, Horus focused on getting the ammo ready. After a few seconds of setting up, Briggs was ready to shoot.

"Focus your fire on these two sectors here, and here," Horus said, pointing out a blasted window to two key points on the URF side of the battlefield. Horus gave Briggs a slap on the back and then headed back into the armory, the chipping sound of the machine gun rattling behind him.

Horus ran into a civilian - an older woman with grey hair and teary eyes. He caught her before she fell, and set her to the ground gently. "Stay here, ma'am, and you'll be safe."

Then, he made his way back downstairs to the ground level. Stretecher-bearers were being brought to the back, carrying the badly injured. Far off to the left, into the indoor shooting range, was the makeshift cemetery - a room that'd already been filled with corpses. Horus saw a stream of several army medics carrying lifeless bodies back that way.

 _We won't hold for too much longer,_ Horus estimated. He didn't have the manpower to beat back the assault. Both of the officers here - Major Cook and Captain Reignns - had gone down early on in the fighting. HE rockets had blown Cook to smithereens, and Reignns had gotten hit by too much shrapnel. Before he'd died, Reignns had made Horus swear to hold the armory at all costs. But Horus was beginning to consider retreat. He'd never been in any combat before, whatsoever. This was his baptism of fire. Horus hadn't even fired his gun at the enemy, yet. He was too busy trying to put together a desperate defense, and he was struggling.

A marine approached him, coming from the front. "Sir - left flank is starting to fall!"

"Get your squad and two extra out there to support them. Take one of the rocket launchers with you," Horus told him, and the marine sergeant fell out.

Horus turned to his right. "You three," he pointed to a few army signallers, trying their best to open up some form of comms. "Round up all the civilians, and get them out of here. Fall back to the Security compound, and let them know we need support." The troopers hesitated for a moment, glancing at their equipment and then back at Horus. "Go!"

They moved out. Horus ran up to the front, crawling the last few yards to the western wall. On the ground floor, the walls were mostly glass windows, and all of them had already been blown out. Most of the cover consisted of improvised lockers, some sandbags, and weapon and ammunition crates. Horus came up behind a pair of young officer cadets.

"Situation's starting to deteriorate," one of the cadets said. "They're still trying to push across the courtyard, but without the left flank's support, it's getting harder. The right flank over by the bus station just got shelled hard by something - I think they have a tank right around that street corner."

Horus scanned the field. A handful of insurrectionists tried to break cover. They charged across the street, trying to get into the courtyard. Briggs's MG from up above cut them down, tearing into limbs and flailing blood in explosive impacts. Half of them were killed; the rest made it into cover behind one of the toppled statues in the center of the courtyard. Far off to the right, buildings shook as something heavy discharged. A huge shell blew away a series of barricades off on the right flank, the explosive power no doubt coming from a tank.

"We gotta take that thing out," Horus said. He crawled backwards and headed back into the deep of the armory, searching for the explosives section. That tank needed to go, ASAP.

* * *

Tamarenne Castilla checked her MA2B for the 7th time. Part of her was excited, feeding off the adrenaline. The other part of her was scared to the bone, though she hid it well. The pelican lurched once again, and she still hadn't gotten used to it. Outside, she could see the ground below. Other than three tailing pelicans keeping formation, there were trees everywhere.

"This gonna be serious. So no bullshit," Markus commented, running a gloved hand across his bald scalp. An intricate tattoo pattern of a phoenix covered the entirety of his head and face, and Tamarenne still found it alluring after all this time.

"We gonna kill us some of them pigs and get that datacard. Those stiffies won't know what hit 'em," Garnjah said in reply. "Then we get out of this shithole, and I'm taking you on a date, sweetheart." That last comment was directed at Tamarenne.

She was disgusted by Garnjah - had been ever since she'd known him. Slimy bastard. "Come near, I cut 'yer fucking rocks off," Tamarenne told him. She meant every word. She could kill any one of these suckers.

Garnjah made a small whooping sound and smiled, but he said nothing else. The pelican began to slow down, and Tamarenne could feel the descent.

Markus unstrapped from his seat and stepped into the cockpit for a moment, and came back several seconds later.

"We're moving fast once we touchdown. Stick to the plan, and this should be smooth sailing," Markus told them as he strapped on a helmet. "Now - Brothers! Sisters! Are you willing to give your life for the cause!?"

Everyone whooped and hollered in affirmation.

"Are you willing to do the necessary!? Would you stand against those who show us no favor!? Are you with me comrades!?"

The insurrectionists cheered in a frenzy, spurred on by the words of their leader. Their devotion bordered on fanaticism. Tamarenne stuck her tongue out - she did that when she was excited. Then she slipped on her balaclava and wrapped her dark red bandanna around her head.

More reverberations thudded through the pelican as they approached the landing zone. Looking out through the rear hatch, Tamarenne saw one of the other pelicans get stitched with a hail of groundfire, but it survived the damage. The UNSC still had defenders in the area. It didn't matter. Nothing would stop them from achieving their objective.

They swooped in over rooftops, over the heads of both URF soldiers and UNSC infantry. The scene below was one of chaos and catastrophe - a good sign.

Moments later, the pelican finally slowed to a halt, hovering a few feet above a massive rooftop. Tamarenne unstrapped herself, and checked her gun for the 8th and final time. Then she sprung to her feet, and piled out the bay with the rest of her group, fanning out above the rooftop. She kept her head low and ducked into cover behind a steel ventilation duct, scanning the adjacent rooftops. Eight other pelicans dropped off their payloads; two other on the same roof as Tamarenne's group, and the rest on top of nearby buildings. In total, there were 86 soldiers.

Overhead, a lone dropship flew past. It was a retrofitted Falcon, and only carried a single passenger, but it was on a very important mission. Everyone on the roof gave a salute as it headed in the direction of New Alexandria.

"Alpha and Bravo teams - take your positions around the target building. Suppress and control," Markus's voice broke through in her earpiece in his thick accent. "Delta team, move into position. The rest of you, let's move out."

Tamarenne broke from cover and sprinted across the roof, following the rest of the team in the steps of Markus. They made their way towards the eastern edge of the building, overlooking the target building across the street. The pelicans took off at the same time. Just as they made it halfway across the roof, a large group of UNSC troops spilled onto the roof of the target building from a maintenance door. In conjunction, gunfire from the upper floors of the building raked the URF positions. Tamarenne went prone, along with everyone else.

"Cut 'em down!" Garnjah shouted, prompting them to open fire. One of the marines was carrying a shoulder-fire weapon, and managed to get into cover behind a low wall. Tamarenne had tried to get a shot on him, but she couldn't risk shooting Garnjah in the back - though she was partly tempted to do so. Seconds later, a rocket impacted on the edge of their building, and shattered pieces of stone and rock rained down over Tamarenne's head. At least two comrades were killed by that attack.

Markus ordered concentrated fire. After several seconds of sustained gunfire, the enemy troops were cut to ribbons from the sheer volume, all of it coming from over dozens of skilled combatants.

"Move!"

They set up rappel gear on the edge of the building. Tamarenne looked over into the street below, and saw a handful of army troopers crossing the street below. A number of civilians were following them.

"Enemy! Below us!" Tamarenne shouted. She took aim and killed two of them in one burst, the troopers spinning to the ground spilling blood. The civilians screamed in horror and scurried into the shadows, desperately crying as the rest of their escorts were blown away.

"Good job, Tamar," Markus nodded in her direction. She felt gratified, looking at him with admiring eyes. This was going to be a great day.

* * *

Bren J. Shepard looked over a number of charts. He simply didn't understand how. This was completely unprecedented. A joint move - infiltration teams shutting down the orbital platforms at sector A-3, and... The only explanation was an active cell operating on the planet and in its orbital defense network.

The URF had two flotillas - one making an in-system jump right for the most vulnerable spot above Reach, where the orbital guns had been cut offline, and the other one coming up from the planet itself, from one of the deep valleys. They'd combined to form a decently sized fleet.

But their naval power wasn't the bad part. The bad part was the fact that they had several orchestrated ground assaults going on all across the planet. Sword base, New Alexandria, and several other locations had gotten hit hard. The Naval Officer's Academy had taken a hard hit, and based on all reports, they'd lost communications. Bren bit his lip - Jane was down there.

"How many in total?" Janessa asked him, staring at the viewscreen up ahead. Red blips formed into a loose formation, far off on the distant side of Reach.

This attack had been in planning for a long time.

"Forty. Most of them older-model frigates. But they have two _Orion_ assault carriers," Bren replied, still looking at the charts in his hand. _Orion_ class ships were considered capital - which meant that they were heavily armed, and heavily armored, and massive. Mini-fortresses.

"They're strong, then," Janessa commented.

"Yes," Bren agreed.

Off to the right, an ensign approached the two, his young beady eyes etched with worry. "We just received a request for reinforcements from Admiral Dennett. Your orders, sir?"

Bren handed his charts to the ensign - he'd read enough. On the viewscreen, he could make out the live-feeds from Anchor 7 station, though there was a 30-second lag. A UNSC frigate blossomed as its reactors detonated; an enemy MAC round from offscreen had cracked the ship in half. Dennett's own cruiser returned fire with a salvo of missiles, gunning for an unseen target. At the same time, the handful of other UNSC ships in the area retreated, vectoring on a course towards Gamma station. Dennett was trying to buy them time. He wouldn't last long.

"Is the Ninth in formation?" Bren asked, and the ensign affirmed.

"Good. Contact FLEETCOMM and tell them to divert the 1st Troooper Battalion and the 23rd Mechanized Brigade to the Officer's Academy. Alert Beta-Alpha station; Stanforth wants our orbital platforms back online. Tell them to dispatch their ODSTs to get it done. Then get me a pelican so I can get to my ship. I'm taking the Ninth to neutralize the enemy fleet."

The ensign saluted and spun on his heels, running off to perform his duties.

"Just like that - right back into it, Bren J," Janessa said, tapping him on his shoulder.

"Been out of it for too long, I guess. But I got you to back me up," he said, a quick smile flashing across his face.

Janessa returned the smile, her face getting even more attractive. Unofficially, she was his second-in-command. She was captaining the other _Marathon-_ class ship in the Ninth. He knew he could count on her - they had a history that stretched back far, and had gotten a bit _too_ close on more than one occasion.

* * *

Mago reconnected a fuse.

"Alright, try it now."

The troop hog sputtered for several seconds, and then the engine finally turned over, revving to life. The sound was thunderous, and Mago slammed the hood down, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" One of the cadets asked. It was the guy named Sparkley.

"It's what I do," Mago told him.

Then he headed towards the rear of the transport, and helped Anysus lift Karyo into the rear cabin, securing her tightly. Her lifeless body was wrapped in what little cloth they could scavenge. And it'd taken everything for Mago to keep from shedding tears.

He, Anysus and JD had found her in a ditch, bullet holes covering her torso, blood pooled all around her. The sight had made Mago dizzy, and he'd nearly vomited. Just like that, she'd gone from being one of the best, to dying at the hands of traitorous cowards. Anysus had cried, and JD hadn't said anything since - he'd been the closest to her. Then, Mago had found tracks - a lot of them. He'd been sure that it was insurrectionists, the same ones who'd killed Karyo. Had he been equipped with live ammo, he'd have gone after them.

A hand rested on Mago's shoulder, snapping him back to reality. "We gotta be strong, Mag. Remember what you told me back home, right before we left?" It was Anysus.

Mago nodded. "Let's just get out of here."

Jane hopped into the passenger seat. Everyone else clambered into the rear cabin, and it was just big enough to fit all of them.

"You know where to go, right?" Jane asked him.

"Yes," he replied, mentally going over the route once again. They needed to avoid the main roads.

"What about your last guy?"

She was talking about Slingshot. Mago hadn't found him, and they didn't have the time to look for him. Slingshot was on his own. But he was tougher than he looked, and Mago wasn't too worried. He just didn't understand what could've happened to him. He hadn't even thought much about it - the only thing that'd been on his mind for the past hour was Karyo. He still couldn't believe she was dead. She'd been more cut out for this life than anyone else in boot camp. Her life had been bred for protecting humanity, and she'd accepted that fully. Mago still found it difficult to express even a full thought, because he couldn't get her out of his head. It angered Mago beyond linguistic explanation. So he shifted into gear and sped from the training site, intent on getting to the fight ASAP.


	7. Chapter 6

**-Chapter VI-**

 **1621 Hours New Carthage - EST**

 **11 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Alcaues Lycurgus System, _Pilvros City,_ planet New Carthage**

 **Apartment Complex 17**

* * *

Raeia emerged from the shower and darted into her brother's room. Ever since he'd left, she'd been sleeping in his room instead of her own. It was bigger, for all that was worth. Slowly but surely, Raeia had been converting it into her own room, now that Mag wouldn't need it anymore. Though, she made sure to not mess with any of his things. Especially his old print-style books. Mag was such a nerd.

She opened the closet. Hung against the back wall was Mag's old work uniform, from when he worked at the factory. It had burn marks on it, though Mag had never told her where they came from. Raeia stared at it for a brief moment, and then glanced at his crates that were filled with different tools and repair equipment. Mag had been a grease monkey for forever, and Raeia desperately wished she'd learned something from him when she still had the chance. He'd been the one to keep not only the apartment, but the entire building together. Every time something went wrong, Mago would take care of it. Otherwise, the tenants would have to pay the apartment owners, and that was extremely expensive.

The truth was that things had somehow gotten even harder since Mag had left, and Raeia missed him fiercely. Mom did too.

After drying off, Raeia pulled on a blank t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and then headed over to the window on her bare feet. It was raining as usual. Off in the distance, a pair of police cars sped down the road, running at least 90 kilometers an hour. Crime had been on the rise over the last few months. A number of different factors were to blame for that, though the main ones were lack of food, a slow decline in available clean drinking water, and a stumbling economy. The refugee wave had died down a while back, but New Carthage was still struggling to assimilate the huge numbers. Even the old factory that Mag worked at had laid off hundreds of workers.

Raeia picked up her small datapad and tabbed to the last letter she'd gotten from Mago.

"...Don't tell mom this, but a week ago, we had a training accident. The night my squad was supposed to be on guard-watch for one of the mini-reactors, I had us sneak into the mess hall and take some food. Now get this - the reactor _malfunctioned and blew up_ while we were away. You know, I don't do much in the way of praying, but after that..."

So dangerous, but so exciting at the same time. He'd sent a photo, too, though he'd told her that sending pictures wasn't allowed. He looked different; older and bigger. She'd spotted cuts and bruises and other marks on his face and arms. Dangerous. Exciting. But mostly dangerous.

Raeia glanced upwards towards the sky, staring past blots of water on the window pane. She thought about what it must be like to get on a starship. To head off to one of those distant planets that she'd only ever heard about. To see places like Earth. Or even Reach. She wondered what it was like on Reach.

 **1700 Hours R-WST**

 **11 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Epsilon Eridani System, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complexplanet Reach**

 **Reach Naval Officer's Academy**

* * *

Commander Alexander Gree leaned around the corner, just in time to see the muzzle flash from a shotgun, about 15 yards down the hallway. A light machine gun fired in unison, covering the hall in blistering gunfire. Gree barely dipped back into cover in time. On the other side of the hall, Carlos Ramirez primed a flashbang and tossed it towards the enemy troops. A second later came the muffled explosion. In one swift motion, Gree, Ramirez, and several other marines fanned into the hallway, opening fire in controlled bursts. The insurrectionist troopers were riddled with bullets and slumped to the floor, blood pooling beneath their bodies.

Several shouts came from an adjacent room, right on the other side of the wall that Gree was up against. He made a sharp series of hand signals, and two marines pressed forward cautiously.

There was another shout from the room, in a language Gree didn't know. Half a second later, a machine gun opened fire and blasted through the wall. A line of bullet holes ripped down the wall. Gree went prone and hit the floor instinctively, and he felt the heat of bullets sizzle right above his back. The two marines ahead weren't so lucky, and collapsed to the ground. One of them had died on the spot. The other one clutched a wound in his ribs and side area, groaning in pain. A corpsman dragged the wounded one back, bringing him out the line of fire. Ramirez, on the other hand, returned fire, blasting his shotgun into the wall, firing right into the room.

Gree kicked out from the wall and did the same, unloading half his M7 Caseless. The other standing marines joined in on the assault, and they bombarded the room for 10 seconds straight. Then Gree ordered them to cease fire. Smoking, miniature craters pockmarked the wall, and entire holes had been blown through.

Gree peeked through to the inside and sensed nothing. There were no more shouts coming from the room. The only sound was the wounded marine, still shouting in agony.

Gree did another set of hand signals from the floor. The corpsman took the dead marine and carried him out of the hallway. At the same time, a handful of marines followed Gree's orders, and breached the room.

"Clear!"

Gree was already back on his feet, gun in hand, pushing into the room. There were 4 dead insurrectionists inside of it, all of them armed with some serious firepower. The room smelled of sweat and death.

"Get those bodies out of here. And tell those two signallers to get in here. Carlos - take two fireteams and secure the northwest perimeter," Gree ordered.

The marines fell right to it. Carlos was the only man on Reach Gree referred to by first name. The most reliable marine Gree had ever known. He was also the only man that Gree trusted. It counted to have men like that in times like these. But Gree had more important things to think about than friendships. He stepped over the mass generator on the far side of the darkened room. Wires hung from its side, hanging aimlessly. A pair of power cores had been taken out of it. The three computers hooked up to the generator were all shut down.

The two army signallers rushed into the room, massive radios strapped to their backs, along with other electronics.

"You know what to do," Gree said, and they immediately got to work.

The day had been long and hard - far harder than Gree had originally anticipated. Upon gathering up a large force of 60 good men to retake Northern Hall, Gree had set out on a direct route. But the situation had reduced to street-to-street fighting. Around every corner, they'd ran into another problem that'd needed solving. By the time he'd made it to Northern Hall itself, he only had 29 men left. And he'd just lost another two more - one wounded, and one dead. So that makes 27 now. URF forces had taken quite a lot of ground in their initial blitz, but the fighting had reached a stalemate. Last Gree had heard, Lockheed's Armory had held the line, though a number of officers had died in the fighting. Quite a lot of officers had died this day.

Now that they could get some meaningful communications up and running, they could start to break apart the URF forces and rout them.

"Sir, try to boot it up now," one of the troopers said.

Gree stepped over to the generator and threw the switch, then flipped it back on. For a second, nothing happened. Then it came to life. Gree heard several clicks in his earpiece, signalling that the generator had worked.

"Good work, soldiers," he told the troopers. They nodded and headed back out the room. Gree switched on his comms and flipped to the appropriate channel. "Security Control, this is Commander Gree; do you read me?"

After a few moments of static, a response came over the band. "This is Security Control - we read you loud and clear, Commander. Good work, sir." The voice belonged to the lieutenant, Heather Grove.

Gree sighed for a moment. He could mount a real counter-strike now, and bring these URF scum to heel. "Talk to me, lieutenant. What's the situation look like?"

"Roughly the same as earlier, sir. Lockheed's Armory managed to hold, thanks to the reinforcements from 1st and 3rd platoons. They managed to take out a number of enemy tanks. But they're still embroiled in hard fighting, and an enemy artillery assault platform is closing in on the area. The rest of the frontline is stagnant. However, a force of URF dropships planted a significant number of enemy combatants around the Data Center, and they've taken control of it. Our aerial forces are still fighting to gain the upper-hand. Now that we have access to our satellite relays, we can arrange for reinforcements properly."

"You said they've taken the Data Center?"

"Affirmative, sir."

Gree didn't like that one bit. "What units are free?"

"We have two platoons of marines to spare, and a newly arrived detachment of troopers; for armored, all we have available is a squadron of 5 Cobras on standby. I just got a ping from command, and we're expecting more reinforcements shortly."

"Send those Cobras to bolster our forces at the Armory. Get those two platoons to rendezvous on 14th Road - we're hitting the Data Center, hard."

Before he could say anything else, a marine came sprinting into the room, out of breath. "Sir - Enemy forces... Closing in! West side of the Hall,"

 _Shit._ "All of you - follow me. We're not losing this Hall."

Gree reloaded his M7 Caseless and headed out the room, the troopers and marine following closely behind. In the hall, they passed by the wounded marine. The corpsman was crouched next to him, and an empty can of biofoam lay on the floor. From what Gree could tell, it looked like the man was still bleeding. He probably wouldn't make it, then. It wasn't common, but there were some bullet wounds that biofoam couldn't do much to help. Up ahead, the rest of Gree's forces were rushing to defend the western side of the building. Exchanges of gunfire sparked up as the squads engaged the enemy.

A massive explosion erupted somewhere ahead and reverberated through the entire building. Shards of glass from broken windows, and chunks of concrete and wood tore through the air. Gree hit the ground once again and covered up. Instinctively, he put his hands over his helmeted head, although it made little sense. Looking to his right, he saw one of the signalers take a shard to the shoulder, the glass jutting out from the joint. The signaler dropped his gun, screaming and collapsing to the floor. The corpsman rushed over, leaving the half-dead marine behind. A short barrage of automatic gun fire tore down the hall from outside, and another marine was sent to the floor, blood spewing from wounds in her upper chest and neck area.

Gree shook the blast off and got back to his feet, then shouted at his troops to keep moving forward and get into position. They pressed on through a wide opening, coming up behind Carlos and the other troops on the western end of the Hall. Moving with his head down, Gree got into cover behind a barricade, next to Carlos.

"What was that?" Gree asked, peeking out of cover briefly.

"They have a M806 about 70 yards out, past that checkpoint station."

Gree looked to where Carlos was pointing, far back at about 11 O'clock. He saw the lightweight variant of the Scorpion tank, its cannon aimed directly at the Hall. URF troops were in cover on the far side of it. The machine gunner on top of its cabin opened fire, peppering the Hall with covering fire, and Gree got his head down. Hot bullets slammed into their positions.

"I'm going to take it out," Gree said, a hand reaching around to the grenade launcher attached to his lower back. He pointed to two recruits in cover nearby, both of whom he'd picked up on the way to the Hall. "You two! You're with me."

"You're still one crazy son of a bitch," Carlos commented. "We'll lay down as much covering fire as we can, but they outnumber us."

Glancing out of cover again, Gree scanned the rest of the battlefield briefly. "Most of them are holed up across the street, off to the right. We'll smoke 'em - they don't have thermal optics."

Carlos nodded and began shouting out orders to the men. Gree signaled for the two recruit marines to form up, and pushed out of the building, leaping through a shatter window. He sprinted for about 5 seconds, and then dived into a crater. The two young marines slid down next to him. An explosion went off somewhere ahead - the tank had fired at them, trying to hit them while they'd been on the move. The concussive force rattled Gree's teeth, but the explosion was otherwise harmless. He ordered the two marines to toss smokes.

As they tossed them, Gree fired wildly into the URF lines before getting back down. Several moments later, thick white smoke rose up high, curling into the air well past the highest rooftops. The volume of gunfire receded as most of the URF troops were suddenly blinded.

"Move!" Gree shouted, charging out the hole.

The gunner on the tank wheeled to face the approaching marines. Gree cut to his left and kept moving, trying to get within range. They were just there, but he wasn't quick enough.

The machine gun opened fire, and blistering rounds cut paths across the ground and through the air. Gree made to get behind a demolished warthog, but was half a second too late. Hot pain bit into his right shoulder, and then into his right leg, and he spun to the ground. Sometimes, adrenaline did nothing to block out pain receptors, and Gree had to fight to keep from hollering out.

One of the marines caught it even worse and fell to the ground face first, several bullet holes smoking out of his back.

Gree felt a hand grab him by the collar, and he was pulled out the line of fire just in time.

Out of the gunfire for the time being, Gree ignored the pain and looked to the marine who'd saved him. One of the recruits, some kid named Cain. Gree grabbed him and yanked him down to eye level, growling in his face. "Cain - You need to prime three frags, and set them to explode by trigger. Get them as close to the tank as you can. Then take my launcher and finish those bastards off."

Cain nodded frantically, and snatched the launcher off of Gree's back. The warthog provided only minimal cover, and the machine gunner on the tank was relentless. An unending hail of rounds sizzled the air and bit into the turned over warthog, forcing Cain to work with his head down. Gree watched him toss three frag grenades in quick succession. Without his right arm, Gree couldn't do anything but watch and writhe in pain.

A second later, a booming explosion rocked the ground right on the other side of the warthog. It flipped and flew through the air wildly, nearly clipping Cain's head and decapitating him. Broken parts and sheared plating split off at hyper speed. It exposed Gree and Cain to the tank and the few URF soldiers in cover behind it.

A second after that, Cain fired the grenade launcher, and the small yellow orb sailed in a low arc. Cain went prone, as did Gree, just as the insurrectionists started shooting.

Then, about three seconds later, a violent _BOOM_ erupted. The M806 was a decent tank, but it couldn't survive such a combined explosion. Had it been an M808 - the _true_ scorpion - the explosion would've only dented the armor plating at best. But the light-variants had a tradeoff. They had their speed and maneuverability, but it cost them their durability and protection.

A small plume went up, and anything within 10 meters of the tank was incinerated, including the URF troopers.

Gree let out a long howl - though, he wasn't sure if it was in joy, or in pain.

* * *

"Sir, enemy ships are moving on a frontal attack trajectory," Ensign Jonesyn said with a glance over her shoulder.

Bren studied the 3-dimensional holographic representation of the battlespace. Thirteen enemy _Mako-_ class corvettes were breaking off from their main fleet into a loose formation, closing the distance between the two battle lines. _Mako-_ class corvettes were lightweight ships and packed lightweight weaponry, but had good range. They were mainly used as harassment ships, and were only effective in large numbers. Lacking decent armor plating, point-defense guns, and personal fighter support, the ships were effectively space-based skirmishers. Skirmish forces have been in use for almost the entirety of human history.

Bren watched their patterns closely. They were pushing hard, trying to get within gun range. But thirteen small corvettes wouldn't stand even the slightest of chances against the Ninth fleet. The enemy were making a play, and Bren knew exactly what that play was. The corvettes were being utilized as meatshields - cannon fodder, to soak up the opening salvo from Bren's ships, allowing the rest of their fleet to swoop within gun range under good cover. It was an old school strategy, one that'd been in use since the days of Xanthippus.

"Relay my orders to the fleet," Bren spoke to Jonesyn. She nodded once. Bren preferred to command by relaying orders through his subordinates. He'd learned early on that it allowed for clearer thinking for himself. It allowed him to command better, but it gave his navigator more work to do. "I want the _Trafalgar_ and the _Highest Spire_ to launch all their longsword squadrons; they're to strafe the enemy corvettes twice, and then pull back. After their second salvo, all ships are to move full-speed ahead towards the enemy. Charge MAC cannons."

Jonesyn went to pass the orders to the fleet. Bren spun on his heels and stepped over to the strategical readout of Reach's surface. Orbital satellites took in information from the ground, then bounced those signals back and forth and relayed them to all available command stations. It presented a top-down 2-D live readout of the ground war, with a 10-second lag in place. It was essentially a live map. From what Bren could tell, it looked like the URF were being pushed out. A couple of cities in the Viery region were still hotly contested. And the brunt of the fighting was still going on at the Officer's Academy.

A majority of the URF forces had been directed at the Academy; far more than any other hotzone. Bren thought about that fact for a moment. It was possible that the URF was playing at something more than just picking a fight with the UNSC. In fact, it was almost a certainty. The insurrectionists never wasted resources unless they had a realistically achievable goal in mind. The question was what that exact goal was. The Officer's Academy was more than just a school; it was practically a military installation, and it housed things that most people in the UNSC knew nothing about. Being the high-ranking officer that he was, Bren had access to some of that information.

Beneath the strategy map was a command log that printed out text-based readouts of communications across the sector. Bren thumbed a tab and switched to ground comms in the Highland Mountains. There was small list of orders given by one Commander Alexander Gree. Normally, that position would be held by the higher ranking Brigadier General Moore, but Moore had gotten killed in the opening skirmish. Gree was in charge at the academy now, putting together a suitable defense. There was a message in particular, relaying a large group of forces to the academy's Data Center.

Bren bit his lip. So _that_ was their play.

"Sir! Longsword squadrons have engaged the enemy!"

Bren headed back to the bridge helm and looked at the magnified viewscreen that Jonesyn put up.

Black longsword fighters spun and dodged, weaving throughout the ranks of the enemy corvettes. Without point-defense guns, the ships were forced to rely on missiles. Contrails streaked out from the corvettes, presenting a stark contrast against the dark backdrop of space. High-explosive guidance-bombs ripped apart the ships, tearing through the weak armor with relative ease. Engines were blown away, and large fragments of armor-plating were torn off. Behind them, the rest of the enemy fleet was closing in.

The longswords began to pull away, but barely in time. The lead enemy ship had let off a salvo of rockets, at least 100 of them. Several of the longswords detonated as the rockets struck home. Most of the fighters managed to just get away, though they'd taken a battering. Of the 13 corvettes, only 2 of them were still at operating capacity. The rest were drifting listlessly towards Reach's surface, bruised to the point of ineffectiveness. The longsword attack was a success.

Barreling past the line of corvettes was the enemy flagship, the same cruiser that'd struck the longswords.

"Are we ready to fire?" Bren asked, staring straight ahead at a _Valiant-_ class super-heavy cruiser - naval behemoths that bristled with weaponry.

It opened fire with a salvo of torpedoes, supported by two MAC rounds.

"All ships are ready to fire, on your command."

Automatic countermeasures were activated as the wave of hostile fire sped into the Ninth fleet. Missiles and torpedoes were detonated prematurely, unable to hit their targets due to the anti-weapons countermeasures in place on board the ships. Some of the rounds exploded on debris strewn across the battlespace. Other missiles were taken out by point-defense cannons. But most of it found its mark. The bridge shuddered as a handful of missiles collided on the lower decks, and a pair of alarm lights flashed red twice, signaling that two heavy-grade weapons had struck the ship. Torpedoes. A second later, a violent lurch shook the ship, and Bren finally decided to strap himself into his command chair. The rest of the enemy fleet's salvo smashed into the Ninth.

"Enemy MAC round hit us!"

Bren thumbed on his fleet-wide comm unit. "All ships, return fire!"

He thumbed it back off and the bridge thrummed as the _Despair's Light_ fired a standard salvo of 250 Archer missiles, 4 Rapier-torpedoes, and 2 light-power MAC rounds. The MAC rounds sped across space alongside the bombardment from the rest of the fleet. Unguided as they were, MAC rounds were typically hard to aim at this range. The first one harmlessly passed through the enemy fleet. The second one struck one of the two remaining _Mako_ corvettes. The ship suffered a massive explosion that shredded through its outer hull and took out its engines. Half a second afterwards, point-defense guns from the enemy flagship destroyed 3 of the torpedoes Bren had launched. The fourth one struck it nose on, dealing only minimal damage. Most of the Archer missiles had gotten taken out by enemy countermeasures.

As the rest of the bombardment continued, Bren asked for a status report.

"35% armor plating on decks 3 through 6," Jonesyn said out of breath. Bren could tell that she was nervous. She kept running a hand across her small braids. "Significant damage to outer-armor on decks 12 and 13, though there is no hull breach. No casualties. Most of our fleet is still green, though the _Saratoga_ and _Shiloh_ have taken heavy hits and are offline. We've also lost contact with nearly all of our deployed longsword squadrons."

Bren unstrapped himself and got to his feet, eyes glued to the holotable. With the opening blows traded, the fight dipped into a brief lull. Jonesyn read out the damage report on the enemy fleet as Bren studied the fleet on the holo. In a pound-for-pound battle, the Ninth fleet would win certainly, though they'd take significant casualties. The enemy had most of their bulk centered around their super-heavy in a tight formation, creating a formidable front to staredown Bren's own fleet. It wasn't a terrible formation, but it left their wings lightly supported with only frigates and corvettes.

Hm. "Order everyone to pull back out of their range, right now."

Jonesyn nodded once and her fingers danced in lightspeed.

"We're making a formation shift. Bring in what longswords are still out. All escort ships are to set up in a diamond formation at the center of the fleet. Split up everyone else on either flank," Bren said. He read off a list of coordinates and specified the formation.

Afterwards, he jogged over to the surface strat-map. In the back of his mind, the main thing he worried about was not the agenda of the URF; it was his daughter. Deep within, Bren felt a fear that he hadn't felt since his baptism of fire. He hadn't been afraid for his own life since then, but he could feel stress creeping into his mind as he thought about Jane. Which was a problem. Emotional dynamics had a negative effect on leadership. Bren couldn't afford to be distracted. But he typed out a quick alert to NavCom; he let them know of the URF operation going on at the Academy, and the potential loss of classified material in the Data Center. Then he requested that ODST support be sent in to deal with the situation.

"Enemy fleet has launched fighters to engage us."

Bren sent out the alert, then headed to the holotable. A swarm of older model longswords sped towards the retreating Ninth. The enemy commander was trying to slow down the retreat, trying to buy time so that he could get back within range. Although point-defense cannons were useful in repelling these types of attacks, the best way to counter fighters was with fighters. Fight fire with fire. Given that the URF were fielding old GA-TLX longswords, they wouldn't be able to match the ones in Bren's fleet. But Bren didn't want to spend any more squadrons. He'd already lost more than he'd needed in his opening move. These types of battles were like chess, in the sense that, every move you made needed to be the best possible move to make. Unwilling to sacrifice more longswords, Bren made the next best possible move.

"Send forward our destroyers - all of them. Top speed. Do it now. Everyone else is to maintain course."

* * *

Lucius Cain had cheated death at least 7 times over the course of the day. He wasn't even sure anymore; he'd stopped counting. He followed his drill instructor. And wherever his drill instructor went, death and chaos wouldn't be far away.

"Don't fucking let your guards down, or I'll kill you myself," Master Sergeant Ramirez spoke, somehow still in his threatening instructor-form even after the day's events. Every command he gave was always followed by a threat. And Cain would be a fool to think those threats were idle.

At present, Cain and 22 other marines were heading down a long, wide 6-lane street. Most of them were on foot, though a pair of them had found an abandoned warthog still in working condition, and its engine purred as it pressed slowly down the center of the street. They were flanked on either side by convenience stores and smaller military barracks and large houses owned by some very high-ranking officers. As trained, Cain kept to the side of the street. He was on the lefthand side, so he kept his weapon trained towards the right, scanning the rooftops and open alleys. His heart was on edge the entire time. After seeing Commander Gree get hit hard, Cain knew that no man was above a life-threatening injury. A pair of army medics were trying to keep Gree from dying right now.

But that was way back at the Hall. Right now, Cain was heading towards the Data Center, to eliminate the URF forces who'd taken it. It was just around the next corner.

Up ahead, the marine out front at point held up a fist. Almost instantaneously, everyone dipped into cover and hunkered down. It reminded Cain of a training exercise he'd done not too long ago. The recruit class had been split up into two large teams, and Cain had been put as second-in-command of team two. He and Mago - the leader of team two - had gotten ambushed by the drill instructors in a situation very similar to this one.

Cain wondered if Mag was ohkay. Out of the entire class, Mag was one of the few guys who Cain felt could survive anything.

The marine on point stood slowly. Just as she was about to signal an all-clear, the air cracked from the discharge of a rifle. A miniature explosion ripped her neck. She was dead before her body hit the ground.

"Contact front! Contact front!"

"Where's it coming from!?"

"They're on the roofs, 1 O'clock, that red building!"

Cain spotted muzzle flashes from the building. It was about 8-stories tall and had shooters dug in on all floors. Near the top floor was a machine-gunner, blasting away a steady barrage. On the top was at least two insurrectionists. The building was right across the street at the upcoming intersection, sitting on the same street the Data Hall was on.

Off to his right, Cain spotted the warthog. The driver attempted to back up, but a wheel was caught in a blown out ditch, spinning up dirt and mud. The gunner on the back returned fire as enemy rounds pelted off the warthog's armoring. It didn't help, and he was sent flying off the rear from a precise gunshot wound. The insurrectionists had a sharpshooter out there. The driver gave up on the warthog, and leaped out and sprinted for cover. A moment later, the hood of the warthog burst into flames as its engine exploded.

Checking his ammunition count one last time, Cain broke from cover and pressed forwards towards the sergeant.

"We're not getting pinned here. We're going to break to the right side of the street and get into those buildings," Ramirez said. Cain heard his voice in his headset and in person.

A moment later, blinding light covered Cain's field of vision as a rocket detonation lit the ground up, not 10 feet from where he took cover. The blast was powerful enough to send shockwaves through his bones, but it was otherwise harmless. Shattered pieces of concrete and debris came raining down moments later, and Cain shielded his face. The rocket contrail had come from one of the rooftops, though Cain didn't know which one.

"Shift right!" Ramirez ordered.

Cain sent a three-round burst into the occupied building, and then dipped for the right side of the street. It was a desperate sprint across a wide road, and the URF soldiers knew it. They opened fire on the marines as they moved. Bullets whizzed just over Cain's head and kicked up dirt just beneath his feet. He kept going, and clambered over a bench, then leaped through a broken window into the building where everyone else was, finally getting outside the enemy's line of sight.

Glancing back at the street, he spotted someone else who hadn't gotten so lucky. The dead marine lay face down in the street, smoking bullet holes covering his body. Cain stared. The sight would've made him gag, had he not already seen so much death this day.

A hard hand gripped Cain by the collar and pulled him to his feet in one swift motion. "Keep your head, son. This is war," Ramirez told him, staring him down with a rock solid, grim face. "This is what we were made for!" Ramirez directed that last comment to everyone.

Cain nodded once, and Ramirez turned to face everyone else.

"Half of you are going to stay here on the street level, and harass the enemy. Fulgrim, you're taking lead," Ramirez said. The large man, known only as Fulgrim, stepped forward and nodded. "Jacobs, Benson, Ryder, Jones, and Cain - you're with me. We're going to get to this top floor and then press on the enemy, take away their height advantage."

They broke into motion, with Cain taking point. He led the small squad deeper into the building, coming across turned over desks, loose paper, and other abandoned office supplies. Several of the rooms they passed by had been barricaded.

The stairwell was in the heart of the building, and they pushed upwards, checking every single corner carefully. Cain kept his hands tight on the M7 Caseless, the same gun given to him by Gree after he'd taken out the tank from earlier. He kept it trained carefully.

If the insurrectionists had been lying in wait, then they probably had men set up all throughout these buildings. It would be likely, in fact. These insurrectionists were better trained than the ones who'd attacked the rest of the base. Cain could tell.

From outside, they could hear the exchange of gunfire as Fulgrim traded shots with the innies. It sounded heated.

After several more minutes of climbing, they made it to the top. The maintenance door was sealed tight from the inside, and required a keypad access code to open up.

"Sir," Cain said, pointing to the pad.

Ramirez stepped up and thumbed a random sequence of numbers, and the pad chirped angrily, flashing red. "Stand back," he said.

The twin gunshots were piercingly loud due to the cramped space they were in. Two small holes were blown into the door, destroying its locking mechanism. Ramirez stepped back, and Cain moved up and kicked the door through. As it swung open, he pushed onto the roof first, sweeping the M7 Caseless in a wide arc. The rest of the squad came through behind him. The rooftop was clear. There was one last building next to the one they were on. Past it was the street down below, and then the red building occupied by the URF.

"Enemy sighted," Ryder said as he pointed to it.

Cain slid behind a massive ventilation duct as the shooting started. He returned fire in short, controlled bursts as Ramirez pushed the squad forward.

* * *

Tamarenne Castilla felt her adrenaline spike to an all-time high. It made her feel alive.

"They played right into our hands, the pigs," Markus said quietly, and Tamarenne smiled. Markus had guessed what the enemy soldiers would try to do, and he'd been right. Markus was always right, and Tamarenne loved that about him.

Tamarenne, Markus, Garnjah, and several others had taken up position along the very same rooftop that the enemy squad had now moved to. Tagging along was the one man who'd made their access to the Data Center possible - Sleen. Otherwise known as Sleeshaw Malarkey. For months, he'd maneuvered himself into the UNSC web, and fronted as a recruit, all the while using his technical expertise to find a way to pry almost anything from the UNSC network here at the Academy.

They were hidden in cover behind ventilation shafts and ducts and abandoned construction equipment. The UNSC soldiers were busy fighting the comrades across the street, completely oblivious to the imminent threat from their right.

"You know the plan - don' kill until we have tooken position," Markus whispered. He looked at everyone in turn, as well as Tamarenne. "For the cause."

"For the cause," they all repeated.

At that, they all silently moved in on the enemy. Tamarenne kept low, and moved from cover to cover, only pressing forward when she knew she wouldn't be seen. She was not far behind Markus. It was a large rooftop, and it would take them some time to get into position without being seen. If they played it right, they could wipe the squad out in less than 2 seconds and save ammunition.

Off to the left, Garnjah pushed up, moving too fast. Tamarenne froze as she heard Garnjah step on something, making a loud cracking sound, as if he'd stepped right on a fragile piece of glass. One of the marines glanced over immediately, and his face jumped into alarm and recognition, spotting Garnjah out in the open. The marine shouted out, just before Markus killed him with a well-placed bullet.

The roof suddenly opened up as they were in open engagement with the marines. All advantage of surprise was now gone. As much as she hated them, Tamarenne had to respect the fact that the UNSC marines were trained very well. A straight on fight would be hard.

"Kill them!" Markus hollered, leaping out of cover and charging the enemy.

He was stopped in his tracks by a massive marine, one with the look of years of experience etched into his face. A solid blow to the chest knocked Markus to the ground, and the two got tangled up into hand-to-hand fighting. Tamarenne couldn't shoot without the risk of accidently hitting Markus. And she was busy trying to keep from getting shot herself.

She glanced out of cover to her left, and spotted a comrade get gunned down, clutching at his throat as the life fled from his body. Tamarenne flared in anger and shot at the marine, but he slipped behind cover just in time. Keeping her gun up, she looked back to her right.

The large marine, whom she assumed was their leader, held a combat knife in his hands. Tamarenne watched in horror as Markus was overpowered, and then killed with a series of stabs to the chest.

" _No!_ " Tamarenne shouted as she squeezed the trigger. All of her shots landed, riddling the enemy marine with numerous lethal bullet wounds. The marine clutched his chest, then fell to the floor and landed right next to Markus. An instant later, two explosions went off simultaneously, the concussive force sending Tamarenne back.

She blacked out for a moment. Although her hearing had went dull for a moment, she could still hear the sounds of gunfire. Lying on her back, her vision a daze, she saw two other comrades fall to the enemy. Part of a body came falling from above; it'd been blown into pieces from the explosion, and Tamarenne couldn't tell who it was. Dark blood showered her in turn.

Tamarenne shook her head. She was a survivor, and she had to survive this. She wouldn't die here, not today. Rolling to her feet, Tamarenne ducked behind a large crate and saw the marines pushing up, killing everything in their path. She found her MA2B and scooped it up, then turned to leave - just as she felt a hand grip her leg.

It was Garnjah, missing a leg and covered in blood, most of it his. "Get me out of here," he growled out, half in pain and half in anger.

Yanking her leg free, Tamarenne turned on him. "This is your fault," she said. Then she shot him in his last leg and reveled in the subsequent screaming.

Tamarenne headed back to the edge of the building, and saw Sleen standing there. He'd lost his gun in the firefight. "Come on - or die!".

She needed no more encouragement. They had the datacard; that was the only thing that mattered now. If she died, then this entire operation would be jeopardized. Tamarenne wouldn't let that loss be on her shoulders.

She moved past Sleen and hopped off the edge and landed smoothly in the fire escape one floor down. It only extended for a couple of floors, and was missing a ladder. Slinging her gun across he back, Tamarenne pulled out her sidearm and then busted out a window, climbing back into the same building she was now trying to escape. The marines on the ground level were on the far side, and Tamarenne knew a way out that avoided that side. So she moved quickly with her pistol held out in front. On her own, she moved much faster. It was how she preferred to be. But Sleen managed to keep up.

Alone. That was how she'd grown up, and that was her natural state. She'd grown up in a world of gangs and warlords. She was a survivor who'd done some nasty things to survive. Had made her way up the ranks in several underground crime gangs. All on her own, and she was only 20 years old. Tamarenne only relied on herself, and had only ever needed or wanted herself. The United Rebel Front had given her a more guided purpose - a goal to work towards, a cause to fight for. But ultimately, Tamarenne saw the URF as a means to an end. The URF brought excitement, experience, and power - all three things that Tamarenne valued. In the right balance, they could bring her the type of solitude she preferred. It felt good for her to be on her own; like a soft drug.

But she couldn't believe that Markus was dead. Markus had been the first person Tamarenne had ever looked up to, had ever admired. She'd even _liked_ him. But now he was dead. His death only served to reaffirm her aversion to attachments of any sort.

Tamarenne shook off her thoughts as she sprinted through the building. In as good a shape as she was in, Tamarenne could sprint for a long time. Running and quick escapes was a necessary for someone living the lifestyle she did. She glanced over her shoulder briefly. Despite his outward appearance, Sleen was able to keep up on his own.

Finally making it to ground level, she ran down a long hallway, leaping over boxes and desks as she went. At the end was a door leading towards the Data Center, back where it should be safe. She sprinted right into the door and burst through-

-and collided right into someone, losing her gun in the process. They fell to the ground, hard, but Tamarenne landed on top. He was a marine. For a brief moment, Tamarenne stared at him, frozen. He was young, somewhere around her age, but had several scars splitting his face. There was nothing really attractive about him physically, but he gave off a sense of danger that she found alluring. But he was an enemy and would therefore die.

He frowned and tossed Tamarenne off, and she rolled to her feet in one complete motion, brandishing her own combat knife. Hidden behind her balaclava, the marine couldn't see Tamarenne's expression as she stuck out her tongue momentarily. Sleen came rushing through the door, and glanced back and forth before doing a double take at the marine. Their gazes met in recognition.

"Do you want to die, UNSC boy?" Tamarenne asked him, taking a step forward and flashing her knife. She'd kill him right here and now.

"Slingshot!" the marine said, ignoring her challenge. Sleen slowly stepped behind Tamarenne, revealing his true colors to the marine.

The staredown lasted for another several seconds. The marine's facial expression turned into cold hatred. "Did you kill her? You killed Karyo?"

"The UNSC is as much a parasite as the Covenant, Mago. As smart as you are, you'll never be able to see that. Karyo was a necessary loss - but I would do it again if I had to," Sleen said, still inching his way back. "This war is mindless; this _galaxy_ is mindless. This universe is mindless. But with what we've done here, the URF will finally have the means to give humanity the future it needs. You're nothing but another cog in a broken machine."

Tamarenne frowned, spotting movement behind the marine. A handful of other marines were coming up at his rear, fast. At least five of them, and they were armed. Outnumbered, Tamarenne reached behind her back and grabbed a frag grenade. The marine took pause, and Tamarenne smiled. Then she primed it and tossed it right in between the two of them, spun on her heels and sprinted for her life.

 **2532 Hours R-ST**

 **11 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/**

 **In orbit above planet _Reach_**

 **UNSC _Despair's Light_**

* * *

Bren J. Shepard wiped his forehead with his uniform jacket, then hung it back over his shoulder. Staring out the viewport, he watched as the enemy super-heavy cruiser winked out of system in an escape slip-space jump.

"Should we follow them, sir?" Ensign Jonesyn asked, looking at the scene as well.

Bren shook his head. "No. We could follow them right into a trap. And we need to refit and repair the fleet. Raise Stanforth, Dennett and Janessa on the COMs."

As Jonesyn went to work, Bren headed back over to the stratmap and reviewed the scene on the ground. In total, the battle had lasted only about 16 hours, though there were some reports of lightweight skirmishes and engagements stretching as far back as yesterday. It'd been a quick, hectic fight that'd been on the scale of a full-blown battle. The stratmap showed scenes of burning battlefields all across the planet's surface. Casualty reports were still incoming, but the current tally held that twice as many civilians died as service members. The UNSC had given as much as they'd got, however. Had given more. Reports from the various scenes across the planet had that the URF had lost a number of assault platforms, hundreds of infantrymen, dozens of exo-atmospheric and high orbit fighters, and so on. The UNSC could stomach such losses, but the URF couldn't.

Unless it was for some specific goal worth the losses.

"Sir - we've established COMs," Jonesyn signaled him.

Bren headed to the main COM terminal and saw the faces of the three admirals. "All forces have withdrawn. Their last ship just fled the system."

"We managed to board one of their frigates," Admiral Dennett said. Bren spotted a fresh wound on the old man's forehead that hadn't been there a day before. Dennett had been the first to engage the URF fleet. "But their crew scuttled their entire information system, and a lot of them jettisoned from escape pods to the planet surface. We managed to track some, but the rest of them will have to be hunted down."

Admiral Stanforth, the most senior member in the impromptu meeting, stuck a fresh cigar in his mouth. "Bren - we relayed your alert about the situation at the Officer's Academy and dispatched ODSTs to secure the Data Center."

Bren glanced around his bridge. He was the only person here who had the proper clearance for the direction this conversation was about to turn. "Jonesyn, reroute this COM channel to my headset and encrypt it." Then he put his uniform jacket back on, left the bridge and headed for his personal quarters.

"They knew about the DC somehow, and I'm certain it was their primary goal," Bren said as he turned down a hall, passing by wounded crewmen. The _Despair's Light_ had taken some hits in the battle. Dozens of crewmembers had gotten wounded. Some of them fatal. "Did we manage to secure it?"

Stanforth coughed twice and hesitated a beat before answering. "By the time our ODSTs arrived on the scene, the situation was out of our hands. Local UNSC forces engaged the URF and pushed them out of the Academy altogether. However, the URF were able to bypass our systems AI somehow; they got their hands on virtually everything."

Bren stepped into his quarters, removed his jacket once again, and sat down on his single chair. Then he bit his lip, and ran a stressed hand through his hair. "Jesus."

"We _do_ know that they weren't able to evacuate from the planet with the rest of the URF fleet. Because we retook the city, they weren't able to send in any dropships. Which means that whoever has that data drive is still down there on Reach. Scattered to the winds, in hiding somewhere."

"I can get some of my hunter teams on the job," Admiral Dennett spoke. "It should be easy to track them down."

"Maybe not _that_ easy," Janessa said. "Those insurrectionists are crafty bastards. Remember - they've been planning this op right beneath our noses, and we don't even know for how long. They're skilled at subterfuge and evasion."

Bren thought for a moment. "Can they get this data back to their command through the Waypoint?"

"I've already got our AIs on it; if any of that data moves, they'll detect it and shut it down immediately," Stanforth said. "In the meantime, we need to get the Ninth Fleet ready to move to the Lambda Aurigae ASAP. Shepard, I'm promoting you to Fleet Admiral as of right now. Expedite the repairs on your fleet - once you're back to green, I want you to move out immediately. We just got word that the Covenant have initiated an attack on Aqaullius; local defense forces and militia have their hands full, but they should be able to buy you enough time . Your primary objective is Operation BROADSWEEP. Repelling the Covenant force is secondary.

"Report back to me once you're ready to move out, Shepard."

Bren pulled his headset off. Operation BROADSWEEP had technically begun one day ago. Underneath large quantities of black ink and red tape and authorization clearances, an ONI research and development facility called LSET, or Lesette, was established deep within a remote mountain range on Roost. Most of its staff consisted of scientists and engineers, using the isolated location as a suitable ground for testing and experimenting with various weapons, engine cores and slipspace drives, energy-deflection systems, strategic analysis in protecting the UNSC economy from collapsing, alternative solutions to human existence should the war end in failure, potential methods for masking human presence from the Covenant for good, and so on. One of the larger discussions revolved around the possibility of developing a Matrioshka-Brain. It was all over Bren's head. The facility had a very small but highly specialized security team. But even more importantly, Lesette housed a complex series of interconnected armored matrices that served as the home of a sub-committee of smart AIs. Those AIs were incredibly valuable and important to not only the UNSC, but humanity as a whole. Bren didn't even fully understand it.

If the Covenant were hitting Aquallius, then Roost wouldn't be too far behind. That Covenant war party would be far too strong for the local defense forces.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered in disbelief. "God damn it."

Bren headed over to his sink and washed his face. The fleet had sustained only small-scale damages and casualties. The _Saratoga_ and _Shiloh_ were knocked out of commission for the time being, however. Excluding those two ships, the rest of the fleet could be up to green status as early as 1 day from now. Bren decided that the best move was to go ahead and scuttle both the _Saratoga_ and _Shiloh._ Redistributing their crews and onboard forces wouldn't take too long. The only thing that Bren wasn't sure about was the fresh batch of marines needed to fill out the ranks of the 76th. They were supposed to be graduating a week from today, but given recent events, Bren wasn't even sure how that entire situation was to shake out. He made a mental note to order their graduation ceremony to be held immediately.

His datapad beeped, alerting him to a call. Scooping it up off his desk, he saw that it was Janessa. She had taken off her hat, and her hair flowed down her head. Bren assumed that she was within her own personal quarters.

"Hey," he said.

"What are you thinking?" She asked. Janessa had always been straight to the point.

"I'm thinking that things are starting to spiral into something serious. Think about it; months with no real events. And then suddenly, we find out that the Covenant are moving on one of our most stable and critical outer-colony systems, that just so happens to house LSET. Then, we're suddenly in a planetary-scale battle with a URF force larger than any we've seen in recent years. And now, we're scrambling to react. Things aren't looking good."

"What about your daughter. Have you heard anything?"

"Just that she's doing fine," Bren said simply. A wave of stress and nausea crept into his soul.

"If she's anything like you, then there's nothing to worry about."

Bren was about to tell her that Jane was an exact copy of her mother, but kept his mouth shut.

"How are you doing?" Janessa asked him when he didn't respond.

Bren wasn't feeling well, but he didn't reveal that. Instead, he said, "I'm going to send the _Saratoga_ and _Shiloh_ to the breaking yards in Aszod. The rest of the fleet is going to touch down at Gergas and Farkas Lake for refit and repairs. We're gonna be leaving for Roost in 25 hours."

"I'll get my guys right on it."

"I'll see you on the surface," Bren said. He gave a small nod, and then shut off the connection. Before he sat his data pad down, he sent an order to the bridge, alerting Ensign Jonesyn that the fleet would be docking and to head to the surface.

Finally, with some time to breath, Bren headed to his footlocker hid beneath his bed. It was a heavy container holding a number of important possessions, documents, and clothing articles. He pried it open and found an identical dress uniform, although it was slightly wrinkled. He placed it on his bed. Then he reached back into his locker and pulled out a small card, about the size of his palm. He placed it next to the clothes on the bed. After that, Bren undressed and stepped into his shower, not bothering to get the water hot. The freezing water kept his mind alert, and he spent the entire 10 minutes in the shower calculating about how best to tackle Operation BROADSWEEP. He wasn't afraid of death, but he was afraid of failure. He contemplated whether or not death was the same thing as failure; then he bit his lip. The ship started shaking, and an intercom alert let him know that they were entering atmosphere re-entry; everyone should strap in. Bren, standing in the shower, ignored the warning and held on tight for several minutes.

Afterwards, Bren dried off and pressed his new uniform before putting it on. He slipped on a coat and placed the card within his coat pocket.

* * *

New Alexandria was a metropolis, rivaled in its grandeur architecture and marvelous structural schemes by only a few cities within the entirety of the UEG colonies. What set the city apart was its unique lack of traditional streets and roadways. Given the awe-inspiring number of skyscrapers and gigantic prefabs and buildings, New Alexandria had no need for ground-level transportation. In fact, it would be completely impractical. Buildings were connected by walkways and terraces and direction elevators. Just about everything else within the city had to be accessed by air.

Bren was in the air right now, riding aboard one of the thousands of civilian airbuses that cut across the skies of New Alexandria everyday. He kept his attention focused on the window to his right. The sky lanes today were quite busy. VTOL pads protruded from buildings everywhere, allowing for the aircrafts to land safely. It looked like a normal day in New Alexandria; had he not known better, Bren wouldn't have guessed that the planet had been ravaged in battle only hours earlier. Well, actually, he could've guessed, judging by the expressions on the faces of everyone in the bus. He could clearly perceive the anxiety lurking within all of them.

"Concourse 91-D," the overhead speakers announced in a robotic voice.

The airbus touched down moments later and Bren followed several people out, stepping into the whippingly cool air of higher-level New Alexandria. Being this far up, the air tended to get much cooler. Bren ignored the chilly temperatures and headed for FLEETCOM HQ.

The walk took about 15 minutes, give or take 2. There wasn't much to see. Not only did temperatures drop at the higher-levels; the number of people milling about did as well. As a result, security wasn't as tight as one would think it'd be up here. Normally, criminals stuck to the middle-levels of the city, but there were some gangs known to operate outside that sphere. Bren kept his guard up, but didn't run into anything suspicious. The closer he got to the HQ, the more military personnel he started to see.

He finally reached Olympic Tower. A nearby VTOL airpad extended outwards from the building, and overhead, an older-model dropship swooped in. Bren did a double glance at it. It was an out-of-issue Falcon, part of a series that the UNSC had stopped production on years ago due to internal engine and stabilization problems. It was strange that one of them would be landing here at the Tower. A lone passenger got out, holding his head low and covered in a long coat. Bren frowned momentarily as the old Falcon left the Tower. The passenger glanced around, somewhat nervously it seemed, and then headed to the front door. Bren followed him.

He had to reach into his coat pocket to present his security card on three separate occasions, even though the security team within the building recognized him. He followed the passenger from the Falcon for a while. The whole time, the guy kept glancing around, as if he was watching for something. The guy turned down a hallway to the right, and Bren went by. It was strange, but Bren didn't think much of it.

Within the heart of the building, he took an elevator 13 floors up, and then headed down a series of hallways. After two minutes of passing by faces, some familiar and some not, he finally made it to office room 872; the office of Colonel Lisa T. Shepard.

Bren bit his lip for a moment, and then checked himself in the reflection of a nearby window. He spent a few seconds trying to tidy himself up even more than he already was. Then, he opened the door without knocking.

Lisa sat behind her desk, occupied with writing out something on print paper. She was in her BDUs, but only had on a plain t-shirt. It looked great on her, as usual. He fought to keep himself from smiling as he watched Lisa slowly raise her sharp gaze to him. Everything she did was always slow and calculated, and even now as an older man, it still allured Bren to no end.

"Uh... Hey," Bren said clumsily, shutting the door behind him.

Lisa leaned back in her seat. For a moment, Bren couldn't read her expression at all. Then, she smiled and stood up. "What're you doing here Bren J?"

"It's good to see you, too," Bren said. Lisa gave a small chuckle, and they embraced each other. Their lips met, and Bren inhaled her scent. He hadn't seen her in too long.

"I talked to Jane," Lisa told him as they held each other.

Bren paused for a moment. After Jane had turned 8, Bren had never been able to maintain a close relationship with her, despite how protective he was of her. As a result, it was rare that he even spoke to his daughter; but he always thought about her. He'd caught word about two hours ago that she was safe. "What'd she say?"

Lisa stepped away then and moved towards the massive windowed wall at the back of the room, looking out. "You know, she was on a training exercise when it started. She said that her team stuck together with one of the graduating recruit squads; you know, for the 76th." Lisa hesitated then, and turned to face Bren. "Why don't you ever talk to her? You hide from her when you don't have to, and I still don't understand why."

"Don't do this, Lisa. I've done everything I could for Jane, and I still am."

"You've done everything but be a dad to her, Bren J."

"I tried to get a stable post when she was born - you know that," Bren said as he removed his coat. He slid his security card into his wallet. "It's... Not easy. And you know how the UNSC works. They wouldn't ever let me go. Especially after Cole died. I couldn't even get out of commanding the Ninth Fleet."

"Yes, you could've."

Bren shook his head as he took a seat. "No, I can't. They're going to be assigning Jane to the 76th once she graduates from the Academy. I have to be there."

Lisa sat on her desk. "I know. And I just caught word that they're going to be pushing her graduation date up by two years."

"Why? What happened?"

"Jane's team and that recruit squad ended up being instrumental in breaking the URF's hold of the DC in the Academy. Technically, they're eligible for several medals and commendations."

Bren held his face in his hand and exhaled sharply. Jesus Christ himself. "You know, I never wanted her to join the military in the first place."

"Yeah, well... She never had much of a choice, did she? None of us do."

"I know," Bren said. "I know that..." He said as he looked at his wife closely.

Her dark red hair was pinned up, revealing all of her striking face. She didn't wear any makeup, but then again, she'd never needed to. A pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of her shirt. It brought back some memories from when he'd first encountered her. As a young officer fresh out of school, Bren had been sent to the colony of New Troy. Lisa had shown up a week after he'd got there, and Bren had watched her closely for days. Every time Bren had seen her, Lisa had always seemed so serious and professional, and the sunglasses she'd always wore had only made her that much more intimidating. On several different occasions, Bren had gathered up the nerve to speak to her, only to choke on anxiety attacks. She was still so beautiful.

"Remember when we first met?"

Her gaze met Bren's. "Yep. All that week, we kept running into each other in passing. I told you, I hated that because it felt like I was following you around."

Bren smiled. "I haven't told you, but it was actually _me_ kind of stalking _you_ , which was very... Strange of me. Admittedly, I was kind of obsessed with you, and all that week I'd been trying to figure out how to talk to you."

Lisa stood up and came over to Bren, placed her hands in his, and lifted him to his feet. "I've always known," Lisa whispered with a smile on her face. They kissed again, and for the moment, nothing else mattered. "Luckily for you, I was just as crazy for you, though I didn't dare show it."

Bren glanced back at the door momentarily. "The fleet's going to be leaving for Roost early tomorrow morning. Why don't you leave the rest of this day up to everyone else? Let's spend this time together."

"I can't. We just fought off an Insurrectionist attack - I've got to be here. But when I'm done, I'll let you know, and you can come by afterwards."

He didn't want to leave, but he also had some stuff to do. Bren kissed her one last time. "I'll let you get to it, Mrs. Shepard," he said as he headed for the door.

Before he walked out, he looked back at Lisa. "I love you." It was the last time he ever saw her.

 _/more on the way/_


	8. Chapter 7

**0954 Hours Roost-Standard Time**

 **28 November 2547 (Military Calendar)/(Roughly 17 days later)**

 **In low orbit above planet _Roost_**

 **UNSC _Despair's Light_**

* * *

"First, second and third platoons, expedite boarding procedures; dropship launch will occur in six minutes."

The loudspeaker blared the alert all throughout the halls of the ship. Blue strobe lights flashed incessantly, urging all onboard crew to speed to their designated positions. Thousands of UNSC servicemembers, navy officers and enlisted, deck hands and engineers, as well as marines from Delta Company of the 76th Marine Regiment, were hastily pacing throughout the guts of the _Despair's Light._ Sudden jumps and lurches happened frequently as the ship made hard maneuvers and positional changes, moving in form with the rest of the Ninth Fleet. The fleet was set to engage a number of enemy Covenant ships nearby any time now, and so it was rushing the deployment of its marine force, trying to get the troops to the surface before the orbital ship battle commenced. Overall, the _Despair's Light_ hadn't seen this much activity since the fight over Reach not even three weeks ago.

Mago was a part of the hustle and bustle. He sprinted down a long hallway with the rest of 2nd platoon. It was dark; the only thing illuminating it was the series of overhead lights flashing up above. There wasn't much talking either. That was probably because everyone was nervous beyond words. To his right was JD, and to his left was Lucius Cain. All three of them were breathing heavily as they kept up with the squad. Their squad leader, a corporal named Vega, was a short woman who'd served in the UNSC for about 1 year now, and she was good.

Mago rounded a corner and nearly ran into several of the ship's crew as they were busy refitting wire into a ceiling panel. As Mago went to go around, he spotted one of the crew standing off to the side with a cigarette in her mouth. There was something familiar about her, but Mago didn't know why. She watched him as well, but Mago couldn't read her expression. He went on by and kept moving.

The platoon made it to the hangar and broke across the open floor. Tanks and warthogs moved along the hangar in tight lines. Longsword squadrons were busy prepping their aircraft for the upcoming ship-to-ship combat. In total, there were dozens of pelicans idling in standby. Only 10 of them would be needed to carry all three platoons to the planet surface. Some of them were carrying warthogs. Mago's squad split off with another squad, and they boarded onto pelican Bravo 261. This wasn't the first time he'd rode onboard a pelican, but Mago had only done orbit-to-surface drops twice, and he didn't like it. The cabin was cramped inside as always. Fifteen UNSC Marines took to Bravo 261. Everyone filed in, and Mago found himself strapped in tight between JD and Cain. He was nervous, but then again, so was everyone else.

Corporal Vega banged twice on the cockpit door, and a moment later, the rear landing hatch shut tight. The entire cabin went dark, with the only light source being a few overhead lamps.

They all sat for the time being and talked to compensate for the bad nerves.

"Just like training, right Mag?" Cain said.

"Not quite," Mago replied.

Cain reminded Mago of himself a lot, though they had slight differences. Cain was smarter; Mago got stuff done better. Cain was taller; Mago was in better shape. Cain liked to watch vidocs and educational videos; Mago liked to read books. Cain got lucky quite often; Mago tended to capitalize on opportunities. Back in training, they'd both been rivals for the top recruit in the class. Every competition, every challenge, every exercise - either Cain would win, or Mago would win. Most of the time, it was Mago, but Cain was never far behind.

They'd faced off three times in pugil-stick fights. Mago had won the first, and Cain had won the second. The third one was close, and the DIs had to pick a winner; that winner had been -

\- There was a series of horns blown from somewhere out in the hangar.

Corporal Vega ordered everybody to shut up.

Seconds later, the pilot's voice came in over the intercom, though Mago could only really hear it from his helmet's speaker. "We're dropping in thirty seconds. Hang tight, marines."

Mago gripped his BR55 tight. The last time he'd held his own gun, it'd been loaded with TTR rounds. For a brief moment, Mago remembered the terrible events that'd occurred what felt like an eternity ago. Slingshot would have to pay for what he did. Mago's emotions tumbled into a ball of hatred every time he thought about it. Graduation had been sped-up to the day after the battle, and had been an unsatisfying event filled with mourning and sorrow as they remembered the names of those who'd passed. Drill Instructor Carlos Ramirez had died in the fighting, along with dozens of others. Anysus had moved on to the Engineer RD corps where his skills would be better put to use. Mago had been tied onto the 76th Marine Regiment to serve a dual-role as Rifleman and Field Technician.

This time around, his weapon had no TTR rounds. It was loaded with M634 Armor Piercing death-dealers.

At 1000 hours on the dot, there was a loud series of clangs as the pelicans were released from the hangar. Warning klaxons rang out as they began their descent towards the surface. Violent shudders and vibrations shook the hull of the pelican as it tumbled through the lower atmosphere. Heat swallowed the outer hull, but pelicans were capable of withstanding close re-entry.

Staff Sergeant Luperkall shouted above the noisy interior to the cabin. "We all know our jobs - We're here to kick Covenant ass! It's why we exist!"

Luperkall had been awarded several medals for his service on Reach. Apparently, he'd been instrumental in the defense of the Academy. Like Luperkall had said, war was the reason for why he existed.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Mago had been on New Carthage, working a job and going to school. Living as a civilian, sleeping in his own bedroom, going wherever he wanted to go - all of these were things from a life that was already gone. This _was_ what Mago had signed up for. There was no point in worrying about what was outside of his control, no point in worrying about death. Mago had read books on the philosophy of stoicism. It helped a lot.

Earlier that day, a small Covenant force had broken through the blockade set up by Roost's local defense forces, and the Ninth Fleet had arrived in-system right afterwards. About two thousand Covenant troops had landed within a natural park just outside the city of Orrite. The 76th had to deploy groundside to relieve the planetary militia by launching a counter-strike to destroy the Covenant force. The entire regiment was broken up along the Ninth Fleet's major ships, with one company to each. But every single marine in the regiment was headed to Roost right now.

Several dozen pelicans cut their way planetside. After getting through the lower atmosphere, Bravo 261 finally stabilized itself.

The pilot's voice came in over the COM. "We're hitting the landing zone in one minute."

A series of explosions followed, and the pelican lurched hard. One of the ammunition crates came loose from it's straps and slid across the cabin, slamming up against the landing ramp. It cracked open, and dozens of loaded magazines spilled onto the floor.

"Covenant bogies inbound on our six," the pilot warned. "Broadsword squadrons are moving to engage."

"Focus yourselves on the task at hand," Luperkall said to the marines. "Check your equipment good; once we hit the ground, we're moving fast. Sound off, marines!"

They all shouted in unison.

Moments later, the landing ramp opened to reveal the scene below. The first thing Mago saw was a Covenant banshee rolling out of control. Purple-ish oil leaked from its engines, and it barreled for a few seconds before igniting in a fiery explosion. A pair of broadswords flew past. The remains of the banshee plunged into a lake down below that spanned a great distance. Far off, Mago could just see the Western edge of Orrite as it moved into the distance. Several other pelicans were visible, holding up the rear half of the staggered formation. Stray plasma rounds streaked across the air, but none of them caused any real damage.

Down below, the lake gave way to the nature park. Extravagant walkways cut pathways through a light forest, forming into bridges and catwalks and artificial plateaus.

"Switch to battlenet COMs," Luperkall ordered. Mago thumbed his helmet to the proper channel, and was met by a flood of communications traffic. He filtered most of it out.

"Alpha and Charlie companies have engaged the enemy. We'll be striking at the Covenant positions in grids 002 and 003 from north-northeast." The voice belonged to Captain Janus. She was the leader of Delta company. Mago had met her several times already. The first time had been a week ago, when he'd been summoned to the motor pool onboard the _Despair's Light_ to help with refitting a handful of warthogs, replacing their chainguns with M68 Gauss Cannons. Janus had shown up in person to get a status report. She seemed like a cold woman who cared only about results. But Mago could tell that she was a solid commander.

Slowly, the pelican descended towards the ground. It swooped down low over the heads of several tall trees before coming to a hovering rest within a large clearing. The pelican touched down lightly, and Mago released his seat straps.

"Move!"

Everyone rushed out the rear of the pelican, weapons raised to the surrounding treeline, scanning for any potential targets. Staff Sergeant Luperkall jogged across field to meet up with the NCOs and COs of the company. Mago crouched down next to JD and Cain, resisting the urge to cover the back of his neck from the heat coming off the pelican engines. Across the open field, the other pelicans dropped off their loads. Dozens of marines took up a defensive perimeter, covering the nearby wooded area. Corporal Vega ordered two marines to unload the ammo crates off of Bravo 261.

Overhead, the bright sun made the air hot and humid. Slowly, Mago rolled up his sleeves. He didn't like the heat.

"First platoon is going to stay here and maintain a defensive perimeter around our transports. Second and third platoons are to push to the enemy positions and engage them right away. Double time, let's move," Captain Janus's voice said over the COM.

Staff Sergeant Luperkall and the lieutenant platoon commander came back from across the field, and signaled for 2nd platoon to fall in. In total, the 2nd platoon had 4 squads in it, constituting over 40 marines. Following behind JD and Cain, Mago got to his feet and ran to meet up with the rest of the platoon. His technician's sack, usually referred to as a tecpack, weighed over 30 pounds and bit into his endurance, but he'd trained for this, and it didn't bother him.

The platoon linked up at the edge of the treeline and got into a loose staggered formation, with Mago's squad taking up the rear. Third platoon was off on the left flank, moving into the heart of the park in parallel. They ran at a steady pace for several minutes straight, moving through bridges and crossing small creekbeds and going through shallow ravines. About 5 minutes into the run, they caught word over the COM that elements from Charlie company had engaged the Covenant and were gaining ground. Distant sounds of gunfire and combat could be heard. The natural park had rest buildings set up throughout. Every now and then, they'd come across one and would have to clear it. It didn't take much time to clear them though. At each one, JD had tested the water fountains, but they all seemed to be out of commission. Mago figured that the city had implemented a shut down on all non-essential water supplies and tanks to reserve them until further notice.

It was then that they slowed down to a careful walk, as they started to come across the bodies. At first, it was only civilians. Sickening burn marks covered their decaying corpses all over. Skin and flesh and bone had been seared away by plasma rounds and deep gashes and cuts - wounds that bore the signs of coming from an elite plasma sword. Mago took notice of the fact that there were no Covenant bodies to be found at all. The Covenant obviously hadn't spared any one. Elderly couples were found brutalized and mangled. And even the youngest of children were dead, their small lifeless bodies stunning the marines into silence. For a brief moment, Cain had to pause as he vomited.

"Corporal Vega," Janus's voice came in. "Get your FT up here to my position ASAP."

Mago hustled his way to the front when Vega signaled for him to move.

Moments later, he came up on the Captain's squad standing around a nasty scene. It was a squad of the planetary militia, decked out in their pale-grey fatigues and sporting older model assault rifles. All of them were dead - had been, for a long time. Limbs had been cut or blown off. Dried blood caked the nearby sidewalk. Holes had been blown into torsos. They were surrounded by a bunch of equipment, most of it junk that didn't really do much. Also, unlike earlier, there were some Covenant bodies here. Two birdlike humanoid creatures Mago recognized as jackals were both dead. Their hands gripped busted plasma pistols. And there were a few dead grunts. All of their guns were destroyed and inoperable. That was probably due to a fail-safe mechanism.

"Ma'am," Mago said as he came up behind the Captain and her squad. Standing next to her, Mago realized just how tall she was - she was an inch taller than him, which made her 6 feet and an inch. Janus was a no-bullshit, detached type of woman who was even better at being a leader. She commanded respect, and her height helped.

"The motion sensor there," Janus pointed to a silver piece of equipment about the size of a shoebox. It'd gotten blown by something; loose wires spilled out and there was a constant, light flashing of sparks coming from its side. "Can you get that to work? We could use it."

Mago headed towards it and crouched down to take a closer look. Holding it up to catch the light from the sun, he could make out some more details. "It's an older 9V-8 sensor. The phase-shift detector is busted, which is causing this leak here; that also means that the spatio-relation scanner is out, so I'd have to try and hotwire a PLR card to the matrix processor housed inside the thermo -"

"Can you get it to work, marine?" Janus asked again.

"Give me 5 minutes, and I'll give you a motion tracker," Mago told her.

"Make it quick," Janus told him. She went to setting up a small makeshift perimeter. Mago pulled off his tecpack.

Repairs of this nature required very steady hands. Despite being an older model, high-level motion trackers like the 9V-8 were very advanced pieces of technology, with an effective scan range of 150 yards. They were fragile and delicate, and could be rendered inoperable if the right type of damage was applied. Luckily, this one hadn't gotten its matrix processor touched in whatever firefight had happened here. But it was still a difficult repair. Quite difficult, in fact. Mago pulled out the right tools he needed, as well as 2 feet of color-coded wires, and got to work.

After about 4 and a half minutes, Mago slapped the motion tracker on the side one good time. With a temporary power source in place, the tracker came to life. The next time it turned off would be for good. He held it carefully as Janus came over to inspect the work.

"It's not a perfect fix. It'll run for about two hours before shutting off permanently, and we can't really do anything about extending its life. But for the time being, we can use it," he told Janus. He tried to explain to her how to use it properly without breaking it, but she cut him off again.

"You'll carry it. Stay close to me - if you pick up anything, let me know."

"Ma'am," Mago said.

Janus ordered the company to into radio silence from here on. Mago shut off his COMs. Then, the makeshift perimeter was dissolved, and once more, the pace shifted back into a light run.

Mago preferred to keep his weapon in hand, rather than having to carry around a heavy motion tracker. There weren't many Field Techs in the 76th, and there definitely weren't many as good as Mago. In his short span of service within the regiment, the Captain had already relied on him a number of times.

These types of endurance checks had been common back in training. Conditioning was a key part in running any effective infantry force, and had been that way for as long as there'd been warfare. Without it, Mago wouldn't be able to keep up whilst managing the motion sensor. Every few seconds, the tracker would complete a full 360 survey of everything with a 150-yard radius. Dozens of blue dots were picked up on, tagging the friendly IFF transponders in the marines of Delta company. It read off the names of everyone, the lettering extremely tiny. Corporal Vega and the rest of the squad was far back in the rear, along with the staff sergeant and his squad.

The formation came up on an open area, and the Captain ordered everyone to sit tight. The area had a fully-sized gravball court, two basketball courts, and a large children's playground with swingsets and monkey bars and other stuff. A small pond sat in the center, with a rest building located to its right. The area looked untouched by the ensuing invasion.

It was then that third platoon, off on the left flank, ran up on a broken down warthog and several militiamen. Word of mouth spread along the line that the soldiers were alive, with fresh wounds, and had been running from something.

At the same time, Mago began to pick up a large number of unidentifiables on the far edge of the tracker.

"Captain - unidentified targets straight ahead at 12 o'clock. Dozens of them," Mago told Janus.

"Head back towards the rear and get everyone to move up here. Leave the tracker here," she told him.

Before he left, Mago looked across the park to the far side. He could just barely make out movement at the edge of the treeline.

He gritted his teeth and headed to the rear, BR55 in hand. Without COMs, they had to resort to traditional communication methods. The Covenant were adept at detecting radio transmissions and triangulating locations. As Mago moved towards the rear, he alerted everyone to the encroaching targets and told them to move to the front to set up a defensive line. He jumped over benches and large tree roots and crossed a shallow creek. Speed and efficiency was key. It took 2 minutes before he got to his own squad.

"Possible enemy contacts approaching us," Mago said. He took a brief pause to regain his breath. Corporal Vega signaled for everyone to fall in. "The Captain wants everyone on the line for a defensive front."

The sudden eruption of gunfire and explosions from the front punctuated Mago's message.

"Let's go!"

Quickly, Mago unsnapped his canteen and took a swig of water. He just barely perceived his hand shaking, and willed it to stop.

They all double-timed it back towards the front.

"Is it really them?" Cain asked him as they ran across the small creekbed. "The Covenant, I mean."

"Definitely, and I think it's a lot of them. But not more than we can handle."

Back on Reach, in the fight against the insurrectionists, Mago had only been exposed to limited combat. Aside from the run-in with Slingshot and the insurrectionist girl, Mago had only fought a small detachment of URF troops in the area around the Data Center at the Academy. After they'd mopped them up, the entire URF force had started to pull back and flee the planet. And under-trained URF soldiers were no substitute for an organized Covenant strike force.

Up ahead, corporal Vega signaled for everyone to go prone as they came up on the firing line. Heavy gunfire streaked across the open playground area in a criss-cross fashion. Mago got to the ground and pulled himself over a thick tree root protruding out the soil. Off to his right, someone shouted out "Clear!" A moment later, a rocket launcher fired, and Mago could feel the force of it even from where he was.

"Contacts moving right! They're running! Drop 'em!"

Several plasma bolts passed by overhead, smashing into trees and dissolving wood. The shots were wild and missed by large margins.

Mago crawled up to a vantage point next to JD, and took a look out across the field. About twenty grunts were caught out in the open, scurrying away as their morale was broke, firing wild plasma shots. Concentrated small-arms fire picked away at them. Several shield-guarded jackals were steadily trying to make their way into cover behind a rest building.

A second shot from the rocket launcher connected right beneath the feet of the jackals. The detonation blew a massive plume out the ground, and broken body parts rained down. The sight was surreal.

There were 4 tall elite warriors still standing though, ducking behind cover near the small playground. They all sported blueish armor, save for one that was decked out in a dark red color scheme. It gave a shout, and they all suddenly broke from cover and charged the defensive line, all of them brandishing plasma swords in both hands.

"Concentrate fire on those elites!" Staff Sergeant Luperkall shouted from somewhere nearby.

Mago brought his gun to bear and honed in on the closest elite. It bounded and dipped across the field at superhuman speeds, barreling in on the defensive line in anger. It's energy shielding shimmered as bullets slammed into it. Mago set his BR55 to semi-automatic and opened fire.

He felt every single trigger pull. The elite's shielding system finally broke underneath the sustained assault. Not even Covenant technology could withstand a barrage from a platoon-sized force. It stumbled and then collapsed to the ground under the hail of gunfire, leaking dark blood from open wounds. Mago shot it in the head, and it stopped moving for good.

The other elites fell in similar fashion, none of them having reached the marines. The last of the grunts were cut down soon afterwards. The battlefield was covered in Covenant bodies and parts, all of them with smoking bullet holes. In total, the fight had lasted only about 5 minutes. There were no casualties. For about half a minute, both 2nd and 3rd platoons held their position in silence.

Mago was still gripping his BR55 tightly when everyone started cheering in a brief moment of celebration. Slowly, he loosened his muscles and let himself breath a sigh of relief. He got to his knees and rested for the first time since he'd sat down on the pelican dropship, allowing himself a small laugh. Placing his gun to the side, he unsnapped his canteen and took a long swallow.

The sight he saw as he looked upwards nearly caused him to drop his water.

A UNSC cruiser was falling towards the planet with massive burn holes and gashes carved into it. Inky smoke pillars leaked from its sides. Escape pods were spilling out of its starboard half, and they were getting strafed by what looked like seraph fighters. Crawling through a cloud just behind it was another ship, this one a destroyer, and it was in the same condition. Half a second later, a sky-splitting laser strike from an unseen foe split the ship in half from stern to bow. The fusion reactors in its engines detonated, and the entire destoyer exploded in a blaze, creating a second sun high up in the atmosphere. Mago had never seen such a sight - never, not even in a movie.

Everyone was stunned into silence.

"We're falling back! Switch to COMs!" someone shouted.

Mago stood slowly, still staring blankly at the scene above. Hundreds of Covenant dropships were swarming towards the surface, carving a path through the falling detritus. Every single escape pod had gotten blown out of the sky by precise plasma missiles from seraphs. Not one of them made it. The underbelly of the cruiser had attempted to deploy its ODST troops, but as soon as the drop hatch opened, an explosion erupted along the ship's side that detonated something within its interior, vaporizing the troopers instantly.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Mago turned to see JD, signaling for him to move. JD still hadn't spoken a word, as far as Mago knew, since Reach.

"We're triple-timing it back to the landing zone," Captain Janus said, breaking radio silence.

"What about Roost?" one of the guys from 3rd platoon asked. "Orrite city? What about the planet? We still have a fight here to-"

"This fight is over! If we don't leave now, we're all dead. We don't have the time to evacuate the city, let alone the planet. This is war, lieutenant."

The two platoons rushed their way back towards the awaiting dropships. Overhead, brilliant flashes streaked across the sky, a testament to the naval battle going on above. It was brutal. Mago couldn't believe the magnificent sight he was witnessing. The scale of the firepower was on an entirely different magnitude.

* * *

Tamarenne had finally gotten a brief moment of respite. She stared at herself through the single mirror of the restroom. The awkward coveralls didn't feel good at all. A light grey shirt hung loosely on her arms, along with the matching trousers. Dark smudges covered the uniform all over, and her face was similarly smeared. None of it fit her in the slightest. Even the name stenciled onto the front didn't fit.

"Ravenne! We got wounded to move!"

"Coming!" Tamarenne responded, rushing back into the mad corridor.

After the battle on Reach, Tamarenne had barely managed to flee the UNSC academy. She and Sleen had split up. Tamarenne had managed to use a stored false-identification template she kept housed within her datapad to effectively slip her way inside of the UNSC military itself, as one Ravenne Casilla - a Martian who'd spent her pre-UNSC life as a deck hand aboard several luxury transport vessels. She'd been saving it for a rainy day, and so far, it worked. Tamarenne had successfully inserted herself onto the crew of the capital ship of the fleet as a support tech-engineer, just before it'd taken off from Reach. Nobody knew her real identity.

But she hadn't expected this.

Heading into the corridor, Tamarenne stepped over wounded crewmembers, officers, and marines. Although they'd left the Lambda Aurigae system an hour ago, wounded were still pouring in from the hangars. With an overwhelmed medical staff, everyone that was capable was having to pitch in. Tamarenne didn't like it, but she had to keep up her cover until she had an opportunity to escape. At the least, she needed to get in contact with the URF to alert them of her situation.

"Help me with him - he needs to get to the medbay!" Engineer Sears commanded, pointing to a half-dead Roost civilian with a gaping hole in his side, and a series of deep gashes along his ribs. Sears was a bit too commanding for the position he actually held, and Tamarenne didn't like that.

But Tamarenne picked up one end of the makeshift stretcher as Sears got the other. As one, they hefted the man from the floor, and rushed to the nearest medbay. They hustled past dozens of crewmen, and had to step over immobile wounded and covered dead. Tamarenne had never really been this close to the Covenant; she'd never really been this close to the war. She'd heard the stories and seen documentaries and watched news reports. But none of it showed this side.

It didn't matter, though. She was surrounded by enemies - it didn't matter if it was the UNSC or Covenant aliens. They could all burn in hell for all she cared.

They wheeled into medbay B-04, and a medic came over to help the civilian. As soon as the medic put a hand on the civilian's chest, a new wound opened up and blood began flowing out freely.

"Shit! Hold your hand here," the medic said to Sears. Then he turned to Tamarenne. "You - get me some biogauze, quickly!"

Tamarenne didn't like being ordered around like that, especially by a UNSC lackey, but she had no choice but to comply. She turned and searched around nearby, but didn't really know where to look. The medbay was just a small series of halls populated with beds, all of them occupied with wounded. It was a chaotic scramble. After looking around for what felt like too long, she finally spotted a spare case of it not far away and snatched it up.

"You can't just take that. We need that here," a nearby civilian said, grabbing her wrist and preventing her from taking the biogauze.

"Back off!" Tamarenne shoved the man aside hard, and he backed off, shaking his head.

Biogauze in hand, Tamarenne tried to get back to Sears as quick as she could manage. Being in such a tight, packed space didn't help. She nearly tripped and fell twice, and was beginning to feel mildly claustrophobic. All her life, she hated being around this many people. It was more than just preference; Tamarenne couldn't think as clearly when caught up in a sea of people.

"Here," she said, handing the supplies to the medic.

"Took you long enough."

Tamarenne was about to give an angry response, but decided to keep her mouth shut. They spent the next two minutes trying to keep the man from dying. Tamarenne hadn't done much medical work in her life. The sight of blood and death in itself didn't strike fear in her. But the pressure kept her on skates. Every few seconds, there was something else she needed to do; bandage an area here, apply pressure over here, cover this spot in biogauze, and so on.

Suddenly, the man stopped moving.

"Damn!" the medic exclaimed, just before he started pumping on the man's chest.

Tamarenne and Sears stood in silence and watched as the medic fought to keep the man alive. But it was futile.

The medic drew forth a large cloth and covered the man's lifeless body; Tamarenne and Sears watched. Then, he pulled out the man's wallet and set the ID card at the head of the stretcher. Tamarenne frowned. It wasn't her fault that the man died. He probably wasn't worth all the trouble anyway. Roost was a world of spoiled, soft UNSC scumbags who hadn't had to fight for anything in their lives.

Briskly, Tamarenne turned and left the medbay, heading for the crew dorms. For the first time since they'd jumped out of the Lambda Aurigae system, she had a chance to take a real break. And she would make it count.

Heading down the hall, she came across a number of crew personnel stitching up various interior systems of the ship. They'd taken several hits during the small engagement with the Covenant, and a lot of internal systems and control nodes had been knocked out. Entire sections of the ship had been shut off due to systems failures, where some of the electronic wiring and connections had been overloaded. The onboard AI had done half the work to patch stuff up; the crew needed to do the other half. Tamarenne had already done enough as it was though.

When she turned down the hall towards the crew dorms, she paused in her tracks. The doorway leading to the crew section was blocked off, a single sign telling everyone to take the rear entrance instead. Large panels were removed from the wall on its right-hand side, revealing the guts and electronics that operated the doorway; a single marine was at work on it, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a disorderly pile of tools.

Tamarenne sighed, and was just about to take the long way around, when the marine glanced up at her. Her chest jumped quickly at the sudden recognition. It was the same marine she'd ran into, literally, on Reach. The same one who she'd seen just a couple hours earlier at the start of the fight with the Covenant. He was called Mago.

Had she not been wearing her mask on reach, he'd have easily recognized Tamarenne for who she was.

Tamarenne put her head down and was just about to turn, until the marine spoke up.

"You're an engineer, right? Give me a hand here."

It was more of a command, rather than a question. Authoritative. Tamarenne didn't like that, but she had no choice. The marines had a lot of unwritten and unofficial seniority - especially their technicians. Being an engineer also meant that Tamarenne was expected to perform system maintenance duties.

"Help you?" Tamarenne asked him without walking over.

He waited a moment before responding, spending the next several seconds watching her closely. He had a sort of skeptical, quizzical look on his face as he scanned her.

Instead of saying anything, he signaled for her to come over.

"Ohkay, and yes?" Tamarenne said as she knelt next to him. She could still feel a sense of danger around him, as if he were a serious threat.

"Automated doors are out all in this section."

"Uh huh?"

He met her eyes again. "Which means I have to do a hard-reconfiguration on the detection and control system."

When Tamarenne didn't respond for a few seconds, Mago suddenly had a knowing look on his face. _My cover's blown,_ Tamarenne thought as her heart pounded in her chest. She found herself at a loss for words, and prepared herself for a fight. She'd go down swinging.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Uh. A little."

They sat there for another few seconds, before Mago gave a sly smile. "Don't worry - I won't tell. Most of the people here who're supposed to know this stuff, don't actually know shit," he said. "I can show you a thing or two, though. If you want."

Her cover was still good. Tamarenne sighed heavily.

Tamarenne just nodded. She needed to keep a certain level of distance from anyone. But she didn't need to appear hostile or isolationistic. If there was anyone she needed to keep away from, then it was certainly this marine.

He pointed to a series of tools and gave their names, explaining what they did and how they did it. Some of them Tamarenne knew, some of them she didn't. Mechanical expertise wasn't her strong suit at all, but she did know something. A lot of her mechanical skill was self-taught; a necessary perk to have in order to survive the things she'd been through.

They spent the next few minutes with Mago walking her through the process, explaining quite a lot about various things she would do well to know. He could communicate very efficiently, which was a far cry from Tamarenne. Where her mastery of speaking English was just barely intermediate, Mago could get his points across well, sometimes without having to say anything at all.

If she played her cards right, then Tamarenne could possibly learn a great deal about the UNSC from this marine. His status as a Field Technician afforded him knowledge of prototype UNSC Weapons systems and their inner-workings. The URF could get a step ahead in the war based on Tamarenne's infiltration of the UNSC, and her access to so much information. Which would, in turn, afford Tamarenne a much better paid position within the insurrection.

* * *

Admiral Bren J. Shepard sat in the corner of his personal quarter's, an almost empty bottle of some type of alcohol at his side. He hadn't ever been at such a low in his life. Every second of every day, his mind kept going back to it.

He'd watched the live-feed of the Olympic Tower exploding into a million pieces, along with every single person in it. It'd happened barely 10 minutes after Bren had left the building from seeing Lisa. His wife. She was gone, and he hadn't been at full strength since.

The room intercom buzzed.

"Sir, Rear Admiral Janessa Vette is on your private channel."

Bren reached for the small table stand nearby, spilling his liquor in the process. The dark liquid stained his wrinkled dress pants. He cursed silently, running his hand across his forehead. He clasped his earpiece from the stand and tapped a button on the side.

"Yeah?"

"Bren J? You don't sound good. Have you been drinking?" Janessa asked, worry etched into her voice.

"Yeah," Bren said a moment later.

"I told you - you need to pull yourself together."

"It's my fault. I should have made her come with me. She'd still be alive. If only I'd _brought her with me._ "

"Listen to me, Bren J. Stop drowning yourself in pity. Clean yourself up, make yourself presentable, and contact FLEETCOM with a sitrep. You need to look strong for your crew. We can't let personal emotions cloud our leadership. You of all people know this."

Janessa was right. Bren hadn't been operating at peak efficiency, and had let his own problems effect his decison-making. He'd delayed the fleet's departure from Reach foolishly, desperate to get a look at Lisa. But there hadn't been much left of her. As a result, by the time the Ninth Fleet had arrived a the Lambda Aurigae system, most of the fighting had already been done.

Bren had launched a poorly-coordinated counter-strike onto Roost, alongside a small force of ODSTs sent to scour the LSET facility. He'd let his own emotional issues interfere with his command. The result had been millions of civilian lives lost, either un-evacuated in time or slaughtered outright by the Covenant, and a handful of ships destroyed in the naval fight, where Bren had made several tactical mistakes.

"It should be you in command of this fleet, not me. I'm not cut out for this anymore."

"Pull yourself together, damn it!"

Bren hauled himself to his feet. He stumbled for a moment, catching himself on the wall. His head was swimming.

"Right."

"The LSET facility. You haven't told me how it went," Janessa said in a questioning tone.

Bren ran a hand through his hair, thinking hard. It was a struggle, being that he was mildly intoxicated. "Um... The facility was already abandoned. All of the staff was gone, without much of a trace, and so were the AI. Their ships were gone, so it seems like they departed the planet beforehand. Luckily, the Covenant hadn't got there. All of its data stores had already been pulled, so Captain Barnes blew the facility up and got out."

Barnes had been in command of the 34th Helljumper Hussars for years. It was a special tasks ODST regiment that strictly ran high-priority black operations. They were good.

Bren stood in front of his mirror and splashed water on his face. It didn't do much to help his headache. "I'm going to send the report."

"Then what?"

Bren thought for a moment. Now that he was a fully-sanctioned Fleet Admiral, he had a certain degree of autonomy. He could take the Ninth Fleet to wherever it was needed. And there were several places that could use some support. Bren couldn't avenge his wife - that chance was forever gone. But he could channel his anger and hatred, and exact it on the URF and Covenant. Never again would Bren let his personal pain effect his duty as Admiral. The UNSC was his life, his life was the UNSC. It was time to accept that.

"We go to war," Bren said, staring at his own eyes.


	9. Chapter 8

**Part 1**

 **Chapter VIII**

The Ninth Fleet had engaged hostile forces on several different occasions over the course of the last few years. First had been at Meridian, where the UNSC had managed to help thwart a Covenant assault back in 2548. The Covenant had come back, though. But by then, the Ninth Fleet had been called to quell an insurrectionist uprising in an outer-colony system. Every single local government in the system had finally banded together to break the chains of UNSC dominion. The UNSC had always neglected the system, but had always made sure to enforce law. The system had gotten enough of that. Even still, there were large populations on those planets sympathetic to the UNSC, who'd urged that they should stay loyal. When the uprising happened, Gendrik Morkar, the man who'd orchestrated the uprising, called for the systematic execution of every person known to be UNSC-sympathetic. Those people, who'd stayed loyal, trusting that the UNSC would come to their aide, were killed mercilessly. Morkar had spared no one - not the parents, and not the children, and had ordered their corpses to be strung up along several major cities, as a reminder of the failures of infidels who'd thought the UNSC would save them.

Fleet Admiral Bren J. Shepard had gotten there far too late to save anyone. But not too late to avenge them. He crushed the URF forces entirely, culminating in the death of the legendary, honorable, and loyal-to-a-fault insurrectionist Fleet Admiral Robert Crew at the twin Battles of New Perth and Doria. Gendrik Morkar had fled the system, and was still on the loose to this day. Without any leads as to his whereabouts, the UNSC was powerless to apprehend him.

The next major engagement of the War had been at Algolis. Despite losing the world, the UNSC had struck a rare decisive victory against strong Covenant forces, and the Ninth Fleet had been there. Two wars had to be fought: one against the ever-problematic URF and various insurrectionist forces, and another against the encroaching Covenant. With every year that passed, the UNSC was losing ground. Among more recent losses was Paris IV, which fell after a weeks-long siege by the Covenant, and Arcadia, which was glassed entirely. Billions had died in the fires of war.

Most of the Ninth Fleet's efforts, however, had been directed towards the location of the LSET staff. Cole Protocol had dictated that fleeing UNSC ships make random jumps to prevent the Covenant from discovering inhabited worlds. Wherever the staff had gone, they'd taken the Assembly of AI with them, and had been missing since. Every lead had been exhausted on locating them, but the running theory was that they'd gone somewhere outside of UNSC-controlled space and were likely stranded.

Defensive warfare had taken its toll on humanity. What few victories achieved by the UNSC were offset by even greater losses. Repelling a Covenant attack was nothing to losing an entire planet. Humanity was headed for even darker times. Poverty was on the rise, as well as the number of sick and unhealthy. Disease and illness had started to become a notable issue for the UNSC, claiming many lives that were desperately needed. Of the civilian population, most of them toiled away day in and day out, working to secure the essentials needed for survival in such a bad economy. Only the lucky and the blessed were able to live relatively comfortable lives, and almost all of them belonged to the inner-colonies.

Stories about Spartan super-soldiers had become legend among the UNSC servicemembers. Mystery swirled around the name; soldiers that had slew thousands of Covenant troops singlehandedly, warriors that could stand toe-to-toe with brute chieftans and win easily, commandos that had struck colossal blows against the Covenant. Most UNSC troops didn't buy it at first. A lot of them still didn't buy it. Legends did nothing to fight off Covenant fleets. Legends did nothing to stop plasma mortar shelling. Legends did nothing for the men and women who bled out on the battlefield, screaming in agony.

Helljumpers especially didn't buy the stories.

* * *

 **2030 Hours Mars - Central Standard Time**

 **13 February 2550 (Military Calendar)/ ( Roughly 3 years later)**

 **Kenosha, Tanais**

 **Orbital Drop Shock Troopers' HQ, Central Hub**

* * *

Jane Shepard hopped out the warthog with her duffel bag in hand. Her trip had taken her quite a distance. After arriving on Mars, she'd taken a bus from the Railaine spaceport to a nearby airport. From there, she'd taken two flights to get from Railine International to Perse, then a pelican ride to Tanais, where the warthog had been waiting. It'd taken all day in Mars time, and the sun had recently gone down below the horizon.

"Thanks for the ride, soldier," she told her driver.

"You're welcome, ma'am." The army trooper snapped a quick salute before pulling off, kicking up dust and grit as he left the base. The ODST HQ was a massive sprawl of military buildings, broken up into three major sections: the Central Hub, the Eastern Ward, and the Intel and Communications Division.

Jane inspected her fatigues one last time. Her status as First Lieutenant was captured in the shiny silver bar attached just beneath her collar. It stood out in sharp contrast with her black fatigues that were trimmed in white. The color scheme was important. It went with the insignia embroidered onto her chest: a fiery skull encased within a drop pod. The symbol of the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers. Jane had gone to ODST School not long after her time at the Officer's Academy, and she'd just graduated from it. Now, she had to replace a deceased platoon commander in the 34th.

"You the new eltee?" A rigid voice asked her from behind.

Jane turned to see a short corporal, about her same age. His head was shaven entirely. The name on his tag read J. Pall.

Before she could say anything, "Third platoon is that way," Pall said shortly, pointing to barracks unit A-1, a large building on the far side of the hub.

The corporal abruptly walked away then. Jane didn't like how that went down. Little respect, even though she outranked him considerably.

Jane brushed it off though, and headed for the barracks. Overhead, a handful of aircraft moved about, shipping equipment and vehicles and troops around. The activity reminded her of the Academy. That'd been one hell of an experience - especially the trenchant battle that'd ensued with the URF. Her time at the ODST School had been different, though. It'd taught her a lot about her own limits. Namely, that she didn't have any. She'd gone through things that few could overcome. Things that she didn't think she could overcome.

Slinging her bag across her back, Jane stepped into the barracks' common area. Rooms lined the massive walls, at least 60 of them. It was a large number for a platoon of ODSTs. From what she could tell, most of the troopers were out for the time being, and only a handful were currently inside the barracks. Those handful were hanging around the lounge area. Expressionless eyes locked onto her for a moment, before everyone went back to doing whatever. Unlike Jane, they were all wearing just t-shirts in place of their upper-fatigues, even though it was a bit cool outside. Jane stood out.

"Officer's sleep upstairs, you know," a vaguely familiar voice said from her left.

She turned to see a face she recognized, but couldn't immediately place. When the trooper met her eyes, it dawned on her.

"Mago?"

He stood up from the shadows of an isolated table off in the corner and approached, his hands carrying some small piece of technology she didn't recognize.

"Never thought I'd see you again," he said.

He held out a hand, and gave Jane a firm handshake.

"Likewise." The last time she'd seen him had been on Reach, years ago, not long after the battle against the rebels. During the burial and memorial ceremony.

Mago looked around the barracks momentarily. "Mostly everyone's out on the town tonight. But you can introduce yourself whenever. Let me know, and I'll gather up the platoon."

"You're platoon sergeant?"

Mago nodded. "Being E-6 has its perks. And mostly downsides." Mago gave a quick smile.

Jane was impressed. It was rare for someone to rise to the rank of Staff Sergeant with less than 4 years of experience. But then again, even back in training, Mago had been an exemplary marine. Had to be, to have made it into the ODSTs.

He looked a bit different from what she could remember. Back then, he'd had a few cuts on his face, but now he had two serious scars running alongside his left cheek and jaw. Like he'd gotten cut by something up close. There was also a burn mark going down the side of his neck, into his shirt. He looked older, harder. Jane could tell he'd seen a lot of the War. There was a cross hanging around his neck.

"When they told us we were getting a fresh lieutenant, I expected some kid from one of the outer-colony garrisons. Someone from the frontier," he said, looking at her closely. She couldn't read the expression behind his grey eyes. "Not the daughter of the legend himself."

Jane raised an eyebrow. She'd heard of the reputation her father had garnered over the years, ever since mom died. Bren had become quite a powerful man, literally and figuratively. Few names carried as much weight as his own, and some had started to refer to him as the Second Cole. The death of her mom had unintentionally boosted the renown of the Shepard name. But Jane felt that a lot of it was over-inflated.

"My father's a man. Not a legend."

"Maybe. I just find it a little... Coincidental. You know, that you get assigned to us. And you're fresh out of the school."

Jane wasn't about to be shot down like that. She knew what he was suggesting. "I made it here off my own merit, Mago."

Mago took a long breath, then looked at the device his hands. It was shaped like a datapad, if a bit smaller. "We're on the same side." He held the small device out for her to take. "Welcome to second platoon."

"What is this?"

"It's a little thing I made. Welcoming gift."

"...And?"

Mago looked around briefly, then lowered his voice a little. "Don't tell anyone, because this could get me DD'd quick. But this lets you communicate and use the Waypoint undetected and unobserved by the UNSC. Among other things."

"Well, I could report you right now. Maybe I should."

"You'll find it handy, trust me. Just take it," he insisted.

Jane certainly could report this right away. Unlicensed tech like this was banned in the UNSC. More than just getting dishonorably discharged, Mago could do time in prison. But she knew that nothing good would come from getting rid of an experienced second-in-command. Especially since he was a familiar face in such unfamiliar territory.

"Alright," Jane took it. It was heavier than a datapad, and had light blue LED lights lining the backside.

"Well, your spot's upstairs. You can't miss it. My room's down here," he pointed to a door in the back corner, "if you need me," Mago said, before giving a smart salute. Jane returned it, and headed for the stairs.

"And Jane," Mago called after her. She turned slowly and met his eyes as he approached. His voice took on a serious edge. "You're gonna have to earn these guys's respect. You're filling in some big shoes, and the 34th doesn't take too kindly to outsiders."

"I'm _not_ an outsider," Jane told him, slightly irritated. "You guys needed a replacement, and I drew the number."

"You _are_ an outsider. For now, anyways."

"If anyone has a problem, they can come to me directly. Don't tell me what you think I am, Mago. Never again." Jane had had to put up with this stuff her entire time in the military. She was sick of it.

She could see that he wanted to come back with a response, but he held his tongue. "And get everyone in here so that I can tell them the same."

* * *

 **0123 Hours New Carthage - Eastern Standard Time**

 **14 February 2550 (Military Calendar)**

 **Pilvros City, New Carthage**

 **Downtown**

Raeia tugged at her hair, staring at herself in the mirror. It had been a long day at school, and an even longer one at work afterwards. The Thrift Mall where she worked had been busy all week long, a byproduct of the upcoming secondary school graduation. For the time being, the city was in an cheery mood. People were spending money and enjoying life. It would not last for long.

It seemed like yesterday that Raeia bad been a freshman. Her features had gotten more defined, her voice slightly deeper. She'd even gotten a little taller. Not all of the changes had been physical, though. She'd grown as a person, had learned a lot of lessons.

But life hadn't gotten any easier - it consistently deteriorated. She washed her hands in the sink.

"You ready to leave here, right?" That voice belonged to her friend and confidante, Miriam.

"Oh God, yes," Raeia said with an exasperated sigh.

Flip music thumped throughout the building in a steady rumble. The music was a 26th century sub-genre of an older genre called heavy metal. Raeia used to love coming to these concerts, but over the past few months, she was starting to lose her interest in it. Her brother Mago had never liked it. Every time she saw him, which was getting more and more rare, he had changed somewhat - but he'd never came around to even remotely liking flip.

Lately, the music had stopped getting Raeia upbeat like it used to. She was finding it harder and harder to enjoy herself.

"Where did you park?" Miriam asked.

"I took the bus here," Raeia told her.

"Really? Jeez."

"I told you, my mom only lets me drive the car for work."

"Jeeeez."

"Stop whining. We'll just hit the metro. Come on," Raeia said.

She led the way out of the massive venue. The air smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. Raeia couldn't hear herself think. The loud, rowdy music, combined with screams and shouts of thrill and excitement, formed an assault on Raeia's ears. It took them several minutes to wade through the dense crowd.

They finally made it outside, stepping into sharp rain and cold air. Raeia zipped up her coat, and signaled for Miriam to follow.

"It's soo late," Miriam said, rubbing her hands together for heat. "Let me stay over at your place tonight."

They walked through the parking lot. Aside from a couple of groups of people loitering about, there was little presence of people. It was somewhere past midnight, though Raeia wasn't sure. She wished she had a chronometer, like her brother. The only sources of light were few and far between.

Miriam stayed further away from the city than Raeia, way out in the outer suburbs. "Yer' gonna have to sleep on the floor," Raeia told her.

The nearest Metro stop was a few blocks away. Fierce wind swept the streets, and sideways rain battered Raeia from her left. Like most weather on New Carthage, it was rainy, but not necessarily storming.

They made it to the Metro stop after about 8 minutes, where Raeia scraped together a handful of credits from her pockets and fed into the Metro Pass machine. It was just enough to cover two tickets.

"Jeez, I owe you, Raeia," Miriam said as they headed for the waiting area. The station was lightly populated.

Raeia took a seat and reached for a nearby magazine. An ad fell out the bottom as she opened it. Reaching for it, Raeia noticed it was a UNSC recruitment flyer. They were everywhere now, even more so than they were a few years ago. This one was for the UNSC Navy: join the ranks of the UNSCs finest space-farers. Have a place among the most powerful warships humanity has ever developed.

Most of what Raeia knew about the military came from her brother Mago. And he didn't talk about it much, aside from complaining about the pay not being enough for what his job was. According to him, the Navy was undoubtedly the most powerful branch of the UNSC, and he always talked about how it was the best place to go for an actual career worth living. Mago was an infantryman, and he'd said, on more than one occasion, that if the War ever ended, he would have to spend his life in the UNSC, because he could never make it as a civilian. Raeia folded the ad and slid it into her coat pocket. She didn't believe that. Mago had a lot of weird, random skills he could deploy in the workforce.

Maybe she should go to the Navy. Her career paths weren't limited; she could easily further her schooling to higher education, if she had the money. But humanity was in dire need of more resources, and resources included military personnel. She could do more in the long-run by serving than by going to school.

"You really gonna do it?" Miriam asked her.

"You mean join up?"

"Yeah."

"I think so. I'd hate to leave my mom behind, but I have to do something. I feel like I'm wasting my time staying here."

Miriam nodded. "I know what you mean. We should join together."

* * *

 **2345 Hours Mars - Central Standard Time**

 **14 February 2550 (Military Calendar)/**

 **Kenosha, Tanais**

 **Orbital Drop Shock Troopers' HQ, Eastern Block**

Mago closed his eyes momentarily as thick locks of hair fell down his head. The barber spun the chair around, and Mago was now facing the room in its entirety. He squinted his eyes and scanned everyone briefly as the barber ran his clippers over Mago's head. More thick black clumps of hair came down.

"When's the last time you got this shit cut?" the barber, Corporal Pall stated.

Mago thought for half a moment. "When's the last time I was in here?"

The barber switched clippers. The room had a handful of troopers in it, all of them decked out in the standard dark black championed by the ODSTs, sporting longsleeve T-shirts and tanktops. Most of them were from the 2nd Battalion. Mago could tell by spotting the flaming arrow tattoos on their forearms, and from the fact that he didn't really know them. Second battalion was usually a bunch of hardasses, even by ODST standards. Mago didn't know any of them personally, though. Being in the 34th himself, he knew mostly everyone in his own circle of troopers.

"That was weeks ago. You know the regulations about hair length," Pall said. "There's a reason why we have these rules in place. But I been meaning to ask you - what do you think about the Wright Video?"

Mago closed his eyes again and thought. The Wright Video was in reference to a helmet cam recording that'd come from Sergeant Brian Wright, from the ODST brigade stationed at the Carter Guard Armory. The footage had been circulated throughout the ranks of the ODSTs, and it was brutal. A shock force consisting entirely of brutes had attacked the armory - something that shouldn't have been possible, because the Carter Guard was a secret location. The entire garrison had been slaughtered; it hadn't been a battle, or even a skirmish. It'd been a massacre. They'd gotten waxed, _hard._ Wright's helmet had caught footage of the brutes in action, and they were deadlier than anything Mago had ever seen.

Mago had only met Brian Wright once before, and had considered Wright to be a solid trooper. The Carter Guard garrison was made up of guard elements, but they were still ODSTs. To think that they'd get brutalized so quickly and easily...

"I'm not sure," Mago started, thinking hard. "Brutes are tough as hell, but I've never seen them fight like that before. Like a force of nature. They might be a Covenant version of shock troopers, except on steroids. Some specialized black ops unit. The only question is why we haven't ran into them before. I mean, think about it. If you ran the Covenant, and you had some brutes that were as deadly as that, then wouldn't you use them every chance you got? Not as frontline combatants, but I'd definitely use them for special tasks, like disabling orbital platforms and such. They look almost unstoppable. I mean, the armory is a secret location, but it's not like it's anything more than an armory. Why send goliath to kill a flag-bearer? Why use your queen to take out an unnecessary pawn? Why deploy your supercarrier to take out a small fighter ship?"

"So you think it's over-kill?" Pall asked as he shaved another clump of hair off Mago's head.

"Two possibilities. This could have been a test-run for some new, elite force of brutes that we simply haven't had to worry about yet. Which seems at least reasonable. And that would be considered a very successful test, I'm assuming. Or," Mago suggested, still thinking hard. "Something else is going on; something strange. The brutes stole all of the equipment there. And Covenant aren't known for scavenging UNSC equipment. Because why use your opponent's sword, when you have a gun? It leads me to think that we could probably be dealing with some splinter group of Covenant. If you watch that video, you'll notice that they had on irregular armor patterns. And it's not in the Covenant MO to send brutes to do an elite's job. So the Covenant aren't the type to send goliath off to kill some insignificant flag-bearer. If this a splinter group, then that would explain why they felt the need to scavenge our equipment; namely, because they don't have much to utilize themselves.

So you'd use your opponent's sword, if your gun is out of ammo, or if you don't have a gun at all," Mago finished.

"If they're at war with the Covenant, then that's good for us, right? Gives the Covenant another group to worry about," Pall suggested himself.

"Not necessarily. Remember, we have our own splinter group to worry about - these Insurrectionist cowards. They're at war with us and the Covenant as well, but we're still losing the War. If those brutes are at war with us and the Covenant, then logic dictates that we just have three forces to worry about, instead of two; URF, the Covenant, and super-brutes. And those brutes, whoever they work for, are clearly not interested in negotiating. In this case, the enemy of my enemy, is my enemy as well."

Before Mago could say anything further, the door opened to a handful of troopers. He recognized all of them, including Sergeant Lucius Cain. They were laughing loudly about something.

"...So, she yells at us to drop our weapons and put our hands up. I tried to sweet talk her, and at the same time, Garv fucking charges them and clears out the whole floor!" The voice belonged to one of the newer guys, Johnathon Rico.

"Bullshit!" Someone called.

Rico took a seat near the front of the small barbershop and laughed. "Just ask sergeant Magnum here," Rico said, pointing to Mago.

"That true?"

Corporal Pall spun Mago one last time as he finished doing the lineup. The only haircuts Mago had gotten for the last year and a half now had been low fade buzzcuts. He liked the look of them. Short and simple. Looking in the mirror, he was satisfied with the results.

Rico was referencing an engagement that'd happened about a month ago. Mago, Rico, and several others had gotten cut off from the rest of 2nd platoon during a mission on Troy to neutralize a critical insurrectionist target. Mago's small fireteam had gotten into a standoff with the insurrectionist warlord, a fierce woman who went by the name of Bosse.

"I put Garv on an overwatch position before we had our showdown with the innies. I hadn't planned on it going down like that, but Garv's good. That's all I have to say, really."

Mago zoned out the rest of the conversation as Pall finished up with the haircut. After several moments of brushing and spraying, Mago stood from the seat and was handed a smaller mirror. The cut was good, but Mago could tell that he definitely needed to shave tonight. His chinstraps were starting to get thick, as well as his mustache. Rules and regulations on head hair were pretty lax; facial hair was another matter altogether. Because too much of it could interfere with the various headgear worn by infantrymen.

He handed Pall 8 credits and an extra as tip.

Over the last couple of years, Mago had started to look more and more like his father - Espellianous. Because his mother rarely spoke about the man, most of what Mago knew about his father came from old journals that Espellianous had written. Every now and then, Mago wondered if he'd consider his father to be a good friend if they'd met man to man. Would he even like the man? Or would he dislike him? These were questions Mago had no real answer for. But he was starting to think that those answers were negative. From what he knew, Mago could tell that they had serious differences in raw personality, contrary to what Mago originally thought. Where Mago was usually still and quiet, Espellianous was more talkative and impulsive. It'd gotten the old marine in trouble on several occasions prior to his death on Vodin. The truth was that Espellianous had been an unremarkable man, as would most likely be the case with Mago himself, and he was perfectly fine with that.

Turning to leave the barbershop, Mago spotted Cain signaling for him. Mago put on his cap, and followed Lucius outside.

"How are you?" Cain asked as the door shut behind them. They stepped out into a chill Saturday night. They were in the Eastern Ward of the HQ, and activity was minimal, thanks to the weekend. A lot of the base staff lived in Evora City, which was several miles away, and tended to head there for the weekends. But here in Kenosha had become a sort of home for Mago. The weather was a bit colder on average across the planet, which was what Mago liked the most about it. It made sense, because Mars wasn't really that close to the Sun. He was still considering renting an apartment in the downtown area.

"Tired. How's JD doing?" Mago asked. They headed for the barracks.

"Still trying to get in contact with his girl on Luna."

"He _still_ hasn't heard from her? Damn, that's not good."

Cain shrugged. "You know him, he doesn't say much of anything. Last he told me, said that he was going to take some time off to head there in person."

"Not good, man. We all know what happens when the lady gets out of contact. He'll be getting a Dear John soon, I hate to say."

They made a left turn onto a dirt road. It would lead them straight to the barracks. Although it was dark, Mago could spot the shift in Cain's attitude suddenly. Years of fighting and bleeding together had that effect, and Mago knew Cain almost as a brother.

"What is it, Lucius?"

Cain cleared his throat. "I followed up on that shadow lead."

Mago stopped to look Cain in the eye. He glanced around briefly to make sure no one was nearby. "And?" his voice was lowered.

"I think it's him."

That 'him' referred to Sleeshah Malarkey. Mago had been hunting the coward down for years now, but every time he got close, the trail vanished. It was about revenge. It was personal. And Sleeshah deserved to die a slow, painful death. Mago didn't think it would ever make himself feel good; but it damn sure wouldn't feel bad to kill the son of a bitch. Mago had killed men before.

And the coward needed to die. Mago owed Karyo that much. If he'd done his job as squad leader back then, and had kept Sleeshah close at hand, Karyo would probably still be alive. Probably would be here in the 34th. Mago had sent Karyo's family a letter after her death, but letters did nothing.

"You told anyone?"

"Just you, JD and Anysus."

"Alright, good." Mago shook Cain's hand. Back on Reach, Mago would've never guessed the caliber of skills that Cain possessed. He was one of the few guys that Mago could trust. "We'll figure out what our next move is on Monday, when Anysus gets here. He told me he got his hands on some off-the-grid transportation. We're going to make that coward die, once and for all."

"We're with you all the way, brother. How's Anysus doing, by the way? Haven't really spoken to him since before last month. When I told him about the lead, he was busy, like usual."

"Apparently, he's been trying to get stationed somewhere off of Reach. UNSC's keeping him on a tight leash, though. You know, he outranks all of us. For a reason, too. He's been designing some serious stuff for the UNSC."

With that, they continued heading for the barracks. Cain smiled and said, "So... Is it true about your new Eltee?" Cain asked. "It's the same cadet chick that used to whoop your ass back in boot camp?"

"It's the daughter of Shepard himself, yes. Which is a _monumental_ coincidence..."

"God damned right. But man, was she good. Really good-looking, too, like exotic. I remember you had the hots for her, right?"

Mago laughed openly. He hadn't laughed in a while. "You're not usually wrong, Cain. But you're wrong as hell on that one, trust me. She's not really my type. You know how I am."

"Well, how about this - there's a little weekend present for you in your room, and I'm certain that it's your type," Cain said as they made it to the entrance of the barracks. Mago shook his hand once again as he pondered what Cain was talking about.

"Alright, Lucius. _Monday_ ," Mago said.

"Right."

They parted ways there, and Mago removed his cap. It was late at night, and he was tired. Today had been long and arduous, even for a trooper. Most days tended to be like that. Sometimes, he wished he was still just a standard marine field-technician.

He opened the door to his tiny room and flipped on the lights.

 _Oh, come on._

On his bed was a girl, no older than 20 years and strikingly attractive, barely dressed in any clothing at all, sporting a pair of tall heels. She had one of his books opened beside her, and the whole room smelled of her perfume, and she smiled up at him as he entered. She clearly had been expecting him. A scarf was draped around her neck, but it didn't really conceal much.

"Hey, sweetie," she said, crawling forward on the bed. Thick black wavy hair fell from her shoulders as she moved.

"The hell are you doing in here, kid? Who let you in here?" Mago demanded the answers.

"Well, my friends call me Roxanne - but you can call me anything you'd like." Roxanne stood from the bed then. With her spiky heels on, she was still a couple inches shorter than Mago. "And don't worry about my age; let's worry about you."

Standing right in front of him, she closed the distance and wrapped an arm around his head, running her hand across his chest. She placed her hand over a scar that Mago had picked up half a year ago. All Mago could smell was her. She moved to kiss him, but he caught her arms in his hands. "Who let you in here?"

"One of your friends named Johnny. And," Roxanne ran her eyes across him and said, "I'm really glad he did. Aren't you?" Her voice was a whisper.

Mago would PT Rico until he puked blood for this. Mago didn't like any unauthorized access to his personal space. Son of a bitch. "The only thing I want, is _sleep,_ " he told her. He was getting close to shoving her away in irritation. He wasn't in the mood for anything else.

"Then you can do that, with me. Kiss me, _Mago._ "

Before he had time to analyze the fact that she knew his name, Roxanne kissed him fully on the lips, eagerly. It took Mago several seconds to get her off. She was smiling, but he had to resist the urge to slap her.

"Get out of here, before I lose my temper."

"You gonna get mad at me for being a bad girl?" Roxanne started to slowly remove what few articles of clothing she had on with one hand, while her other hand caressed his chest.

A couple of years ago, her charms might've worked. Maybe. But years of bitter warfare had dulled Mago's interests, concerns, and desires. The only thing Mago thought about on a regular basis, besides warfare, was his family. And Mago recognized that It'd taken its toll, but he couldn't really do much about that. One of the byproducts had been the significant increase in Mago's asexual nature.

Roxanne was fully naked now, save for her heels. She made to move in on Mago, trying to goad him into action. When he didn't react, she frowned.

"What's wrong? You don't like me?"

 _Jesu Christo,_ thought Mago. "The only things I like are peace and quiet. You're not offering either of those," he said. Roxanne searched his face, to see if he was joking. "Door's that way."

With that, he brushed past her and collapsed on his bed, fatigue starting to sap his energy seriously.

"Well," Roxanne started, glancing around. "Could I ... stay here, at least for the night?"

" _No,_ damn it. I mean, why?"

"The shelter I usually stay in is overcrowded really bad. And it's really cold outside. It's just for the night, please. I won't bother you."

"You should've thought about that beforehand. I don't like sob stories - never have, never will. Now scram, jeez."

Mago didn't have the energy to dedicate a serious analysis of her request. The main thing he wondered about was public perception. What would it look like in the morning, to see a girl, not even 20, leaving the Staff Sergeant's room? Being the rank that he was, Mago had to consider the image he presented to the platoon. Normally, he gave no shit about what anyone thought, but that freedom had been lost when he started rising up the ranks. Some form of discipline was expected of a Shock Trooper staff sergeant.

Mago reached into his pocket and tossed her a handful of credits. They bounced off her bare chest and hit the floor.

"Get yourself a room somewhere. And a job."

"God, you're so cold." she said before scooping up the credits.

"Cry me a river, _please._ "

It took her less than a minute to get dressed. Roxanne gave him one last look. She was probably the same age as Raeia. Maybe a year younger.

When she finally left his room, Mago stared up at the ceiling. He thought hard for several minutes. First about his haircut. He ran a hand across his head and face, then realized he'd forgot to shave. He was too tired to climb back off the bed and shave at this point. Then he thought about what Cain had told him. For months on in, Mago had been hunting for Malarkey. Every time he got close, the trail would go cold. Now, it was time to avenge Karyo. It was personal. The Coward had to die. The third thing Mago thought about was sleep. He then got undressed himself. It was an awkward task while laying on the bed, but he got it done. Then he rolled onto his stomach and put his head underneath his pillow.

Then his eyes shot open. He reached for his fatigues and patted down the pockets, several times.

His HACPAD was gone.

"The fuck...?"

That HACPAD was one of only two that Mago had personally designed. It had far more advanced programs, capabilities and routines than standard datapads. Most importantly was the fact that it was completely undetectable by almost all high-end security and monitoring systems, including dumb AI, and under certain conditions, smart AI. He'd given one of them to Jane Shepard and kept the other for himself. They costed money and time to make.

Mago hopped out of bed and completely dumped his pockets onto it. There was nothing but about 50 credits, lint, and his wallet. He closed his eyes and thought hard for the fourth time that night. There was no way he misplaced it; that was for certain.

It dawned on him then. That Roxanne girl - she must've pickpocketed him when she kissed him. But then, why take the HACPAD and not his wallet altogether? She couldn't have known what it was capable of; aside from Jane, the only person who knew about them was Anysus.

 _Did_ she know what she was taking?

Regardless, Mago had to get it back ASAP. If she found out what it could do...

There was a knock on his door. He rushed on a pair of weather pants, then opened it to see Jane Shepard.

"Lieutenant," he said. It was too late to put on a shirt now.

"Command just tipped the line and put us on standby."

"Covenant?"

"Yes. A space probe right outside the Ultramarra system picked up some whispers. We might have to go in to extract a group of VIPs."

Mago closed his eyes momentarily. "Alright, I'll round up the platoon. Any idea when we dust off?"

Jane shook her head. She was dressed in similar attire; black sweatpants and a t-shirt. She looked like she might've just woken up from sleep not too long ago. He hair was unkempt.

"You probably need to shave, sergeant." Jane commented.

 _And you probably need to get a comb,_ he thought, but didn't say. Mago ran a hand across his stubble. "I thought it looked good on me," he joked.

Jane's amber eyes stared at him blankly.

"You really don't like me, do you?" he asked honestly.

"That's a mutual feeling, is it not?"

"You just do your job, and I'll do mine," Mago told her.

"And what's your last name?"

"Huh?" Mago asked. That was a random question.

"Your last name. Surname."

"It's -"

Before Mago could finish, Jane's transponder buzzed hard. It was NAVSPEC command. She read the lines of instructions.

"We need to be off-world in 45 minutes," Jane said, looking at the transponder.

* * *

Admiral Bren J. Shepard studied the holomap-projection in measured silence. Yellow blips pointed out numerous civilian-transport vessels, carrying people all across the Cardabo system. Managing a complex Intrasystem space travel network was quite difficult, especially considering a system with as many inhabited worlds as Cardabo. Each planet had its own orbit, its own rotation, its own set of satellites. And because stars moved around the galaxy, those same planets had to move in-time with it. Space was a grandiloquent beast. And it required a massive degree of computation.

One world in particular flashed a bright red.

With a series of commands, the projection zoomed in to the surface of Gao, the main planet here in Cardabo.

"According to our tip, they're most likely entrenched somewhere on the Helio continent; particularly in Archer City."

That voice belonged to Minerva, the relatively new shipboard AI. Her avatar, a floating blue orb of light, hovered above the projection. She often switched between being an orb of light, or being a woman dressed in ancient tribal clothing; it depended on her 'mood', apparently. Bren wondered about the philosophical implications of AI that had moods. Did they have intension? Philosophers still disagreed about what intension was itself.

Bren didn't ask Minerva about intension. Instead, he asked, "The atmosphere there?" while pinching the bridge of his nose. He knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"Hostile towards the UNSC. For good reason, I might add. And they don't like the URF either. They're isolationist, and borderline insurrectionist rebels," Minerva said. She floated around the holo-projection, highlighting several areas. "Anti-UNSC sentiments are particularly volatile in these locations. Including Archer city."

It'd gotten worse over the years. Originally, whenever the UNSC operated beyond the inner-colonies, it was only on certain occasions that they'd be met with hostile attitudes. But now, everywhere the UNSC went was a hotbed for angry local governments and even angrier, poorer citizens.

If it wasn't for the missing LSET crew, Bren would have long ago his entire force to the battlefields of Meridian. They were still holding out there, still giving the Covenant hell. With the Ninth Fleet in support, they'd undoubtedly be able to cripple the Covenant and send them packing. The battle for Meridian had turned into a hard ground campaign, something that the UNSC excelled at. Bren longed for the day when he was freed up to support the Meridians. But he had something else to worry about at the moment, and it wasn't the Cardabo system.

"We'll handle Gao when we get there," Bren said to Minerva. She flashed a light green color for acknowledgement. "In the meantime, what's our E.T.A to Ultramarra?"

"Still enough time for you to get some sleep for once," Minerva said, switching into her woman-form. Bren wasn't completely knowledgeable about AI, but he could swear to Heaven and Hell that Minerva's personality was just like Lisa's. Maybe Bren was reading into things, missing his wife. Maybe he was right.

"Have we briefed our Helljumpers yet?"

She smiled. "I left that honor for you."

Bren knew exactly why. Minerva knew what she was doing. "Get their command in here," he said.

Minerva winked out of existence then. In the meanwhile, Bren tapped away on the holo-console to bring up the Ultramarra system. The console was about as large as King Arthur's roundtable. Despite that, it only took up a small modicum of space in the War Room. There were no seats in here. Only standing space for great minds to converge and discuss plans of action. The only source of light, besides the holotable, was a small series of little ceiling lights.

Bren stood alone in measured silence once again. He thought about his wife, and how he should've urged her to leave work that day. If he wasn't focused on the war effort, then his mind was focused on Lisa, and various contingent possibilities that were forever denied him. If only...

The doors slid open, showering the dark room with light from the hallway. A handful of ODSTs entered in tight formation, wearing their dark BDUs.

Captain Sparr stood in front. He was a veteran from the old-school UNSC, from back before the Covenant War. He was followed by his platoon leaders and their NCOs. They all saluted.

In the back towards the right was newly appointed leader of 2nd platoon, First Lieutenant Jane Shepard. Bren's daughter. She didn't meet his gaze. Next to her was Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus - a solid young man that'd served under Bren for years now.

"You all know why we're here. Covenant want to burn Ultramarra. We're not going to let them." Bren returned their salute then, and they stood at ease.

"But I have a different job for you. Captain Sparr, I need your company to drop to Macrag as soon as we arrive." Bren's words were punctuated by Minerva appearing over the holomap, back in her orb form. She zoomed all the way to the surface streets of Illyrias. "Your job is twofold," Bren said.

Minerva spoke up then. "Thousands of civilians live in Illyrias. It's the crown jewel of Macrag. You'll secure and protect the underground fallout bunker near the Eastern Corridor, just outside the city." The projection flashed through the streets of illyrias, highlighting the target area. Bren walked around the side of the holotable, studying the city himself.

"And the second job?" Captain Sparr asked.

Minerva switched the projection to a different building, this one large and aged. "There is an ONI blacksite hidden underneath this factory near the South seaboard of Illyrias. Along with the staff located there, you'll extract with you several key items. We'll update you on that task as the mission unfolds."

Bren nodded himself. With ONI, everything operated on a need-to-know basis. The ODSTs wouldn't be told specifically what they were extracting until they actually made it to the blacksite themselves. Until the mission got to the point where they'd need-to-know.

"Alongside the orbital defense guns, I'll set up a planetary blockade and fight off the Covenant fleet as best I can," Bren told them. "Some of them will break through, and a lot of their troops will be heading straight for Illyrias. Any questions?"

"Sounds impossible," Captain Sparr said. "Just the way we like it, sir." Sparr saluted then, along with the rest of the troopers.

"Dismissed," Bren told them. Minerva vanished, and the troopers turned to leave. Bren waited a moment. "Jane," he said.

She stopped just shy of the door threshold, then slowly turned to face him. The rest of the troopers left. Bren thumbed a button on the holotable, and the door shut.

"Come here," he told her.

As Jane stepped closer into the light, Bren could make out more of her features. She reminded him of Lisa so much. She was the only thing he had left in this universe worth fighting for.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"As good as can be expected."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I've had to deal with a lot of unfair treatment, particularly because of you. And I barely even know you anymore."

"Is someone bothering you? Tell me who."

Jane sighed and closed her eyes. She looked just like Lisa. "No, that's not it, Bren. Everywhere I go, everything I do - I get judged harshly because people think I rely on your help. You know how nepotism is in the UNSC. Even my own platoon doesn't trust that I'm capable."

Bren had never liked how Jane referred to him by his name. "What about your second-in-command? What do they call him - Magnum?"

"He definitely doesn't like me. Not yet, anyway. And I don't like him."

"Well, you need to learn to trust your subordinates; that they're able to do what you tell them, and _will_ do what you tell them. Command is a position of responsibility and vulnerability. All eyes are on you to see what you'll do, and what you're willing to do. Never forget that. Everyone comes in with a clean slate; it's up to you what goes on that slate. And what goes on it determines how you'll be received by everyone else in the long run. If it's one thing you should never forget, it's that every single decision you make will have a trade-off. Everything has a downside to it.

When I started, back when I first met your mother, I tried to impress her by taking a big, stupid risk. It got a ship crashed, and got me three weeks in the brig. Which was... Kind of a good thing, now that I think about it. An eye-opener."

Jane smiled very briefly. Bren got the feeling that she didn't smile much, which was a habit she would certainly have gotten from him.

"When you go down to that planet, you're going to be in a combat zone. On one side is you, your fellow Troopers, and if he feels the need to get involved, God. On the other side, it's going to be a genocidal armada, hell-bent on a crusade against us, masters of war in their own right. They're zealous, and they believe it to be a sacred right to kill humanity.

So don't hesitate to rely on help, on your staff sergeant. He's been doing this for years now, and he's a natural."

The truth was, Bren would have preferred for that staff sergeant to be in charge of 2nd platoon. At least on this op. Aside from the experience and knowledge Rictus had, Bren could tell that the young man was also more mentally prepared. Rictus had seen men get vaporized by plasma shells, had seen good men get cut down like dogs by elite warriors, had seen a glassing, had seen high civilian casualties. An op of this level wasn't suited for someone who hadn't had any real combat experience yet. And besides, if it came down to it, he'd rather Rictus be in front of a Covenant strike force than his own daughter. That would never change.

"Ohkay," Jane said. Bren hugged her tight, then dismissed her.

After she left, Minerva popped back up over the holotable.

"I think you should really get that sleep now, Admiral Shepard," Minerva said. She was back in her woman form. "I've calculated that at the least, a good 5 hours will increase your overall command effectiveness by 72.9%. You will need to be operating efficiently, for when you face the Covenant shipmaster."

Bren picked up some papers and headed for the exit. Minerva winked out of sight, but her voice infiltrated his earpiece nonetheless.

"Alternatively, we could finish that chess game we started," she suggested. Out of a rare moment of not having anything to do, Bren had started a chess game with the AI, to keep his mind from locking onto Lisa. He had no doubts that Minerva was taking it a bit easy on him, as he'd made it to move 10. Bren was no chess master. He wasn't bored anymore, either. He now had something series to focus his mind on.

"I'll concede that game. What I need right now is a full holo-scan of Ultramarra as it'll be when we arrive; planetary positions, gravity fields and radiation discharges. Calculate an approximate arrival time of the Covenant fleet, and their possible attack angles."

"Well, they'll most likely drop in somewhere around the moon of Tarvis. That'll put them roughly one light-hour from Macrag."

Bren chewed on that information. Space combat at those ranges were quite difficult, to say the least. Being a light-hour away meant that, by the time the Covenant ship's could be seen conventionally, they'll have already moved on from that location an hour prior. That's how reality worked. In other words, accurately firing unguided MAC rounds at targets of that range meant that Bren couldn't fire at what he saw; he had to fire at the most likely position the Covenant ships _would_ be, given an hour's time of traditional space travel. Calculating such trajectories relied heavily on infrared sensoring and highly difficult physical kinetics and quantum equations. Which is why modern UNSC warships come with AI onboard. Because in space warfare, even something as seemingly simple as shooting a kilometers-wide target was profoundly difficult. That's not considering other factors, such as gravity and space-debris.

One standard MAC round at its average travel speed, applied at such a long distance, could run into thousands of sandgrain-sized particles; at those speeds, a person hitting that would be like getting shot by a round from an SRS99 at point-blank range, magnified by three. So MAC rounds tended to lose a lot of force and power by the time they reached their targets. But MAC rounds did have some protective covering on their fronts.

His best bet would be to save ammunition for the Covenant to draw closer. The same problems the UNSC faced in space combat were roughly the same that the Covenant faced. No matter their technology, they couldn't circumvent physical law. However, their plasma weaponry didn't suffer the same setbacks as the UNSC's physical weaponry. Plasma was undaunted in the face of space debris. But Bren had counters for plasma. The best way to keep your ship alive in space combat wasn't to have better armor, or even shielding. It was to dodge, and constantly dodge, and constantly dodge again.

"I have a plan," Bren told Minerva.

* * *

Tamarenne kept her head low and made sure that nobody was close enough to hear. The cafeteria was usually at its least crowded around this cycle. She was accompanied by one other - a fellow URF sleeper cell named Aroxa.

"Well?" Tamarenne asked, scooping a mouthful of steamed vegetables.

"I think I went overboard with the makeup and disguise. You should've seen me. But anyways, I talked one of the newer guys into letting me in. There was this one guy, I think his name was Cain - I thought he was going to stop it, but he didn't care in the end," Aroxa said.

"And?"

"I waited for like, ever. He had a bunch of books in his room, so I tried to read one but it was kinda stupid. He finally got back after about 2 hours."

"I like no suspense."

Aroxa sighed. "Ohkay, ohkay. He wouldn't do anything, though I wish he had; he just kept telling me to leave. But I did kiss him, and it was wet, too. I used that moment to steal it."

Tamarenne, in spite of herself, couldn't help the very small tingling of jealousy creeping into her chest. She'd grown extremely infatuated with Mago over the last couple of years, even though he was her enemy. Deep down within herself, she felt that she had developed an unhealthy obsession with him. That was how she'd unwittingly discovered the existence of his HACPADs.

For several years now, Tamarenne had been operating as an intelligence spy for the URF onboard the _Despair's Light._ After she'd gotten into contact with them, back when she first had infiltrated the UNSC, they'd offered her a deal. Keep track of the Ninth Fleet's movements, as well as any other actionable intel, and they'd pay her handsomely. Aroxa had been brought onboard the operation as support, but Tamarenne didn't really need her. Until now, at least.

"Show to me," Tamarenne said.

Aroxa slid the pad to Tamarenne from beneath the table. It was heavy, but also smaller than a normal datapad. Tamarenne needed to test it out. If it did what she thought it did, then the HACPAD alone could be enough to set Tamarenne up for life. Technology like this would be immeasurably invaluable to the URF. Tamarenne wouldn't need to work for anyone ever again, especially not the URF. She could even buy a home on Earth, in one of the old, prestigious places like Egypt, or New Thai, or Mexico. That was her new life goal - to find some place where she could live as herself.

But she needed to get it into the hands of the URF, in person. They were a very difficult group to track down and contact, even for its best people. Tamarenne would need time. With the Ninth Fleet en route to Ultramarra, it would be at least weeks before Tamarenne was in a position to make a move. Ultramarra was far from URF space.

"What're we going to do?" Aroxa asked.

Tamarenne ate another mouthful of vegetables. "We wait and wait, bide time. When opportunity comes, we leave. For good. With this," Tamarenne tapped the HACPAD for emphasis. "We give to URF. We get paid, then we make our own luck." Tamarenne's english had only gotten slightly better since she'd infiltrated the UNSC.

"What about fighting the righteous crusade? Giving the UNSC what they deserve?"

"I fight for me. Not nobody else. URF give nothing to me, not free. They not make life better, they only make war. Just like UNSC. Freedom costs."

Aroxa seemed unconvinced, but she didn't push the issue. Tamarenne worked for the URF because they paid her, and because, as it stood, they were all she had. Tamarenne didn't want them. And one day soon, she wouldn't need them anymore.

Just then, a set of double doors to the cafeteria opened. Several ODSTs entered. They picked out their food and then took their seats. An entire section of the cafeteria was reserved for them. Mago was among them. Tamarenne stared at him as he took a seat, right in the middle of the ODSTs. He held quite a lot of respect, and nobody ever bothered him.

"He won't recognize you?" Tamarenne whispered.

"I'm certain," Aroxa said, even though she kept her head low.

"Alright," Tamarenne said. She took a bite from her lemon; she loved lemons. "When we back from 'tramarra, we make move." Tamarenne checked the ship-time on the wall, and realized that she had maintenance duties coming up. She'd grown used to the job, and had actually learned a lot. "First, I gotta fix ship."


	10. Chapter 9

**-Chapter 9-**

 **1025 Hours Macrag - Central Standard Time**

 **27 February 2550 (Military Calendar)/**

 **In mid-orbit above planet Macrag**

 **UNSC _Despair's Light,_ SOEIV-Insertion Pod Dropbay**

Mago secured his M7S Caseless tightly into his drop pod. It fit snugly into the primary weapon holster bolted to the righthand side of the interior. An ammunition belt was tied down right above it. On the lefthand side was a M319 Grenade Launcher. Again, ammo belts were tied down tightly around it. Then Mago slid his combat knife into his shoulder carrier. After that, he secured his M6 handgun to his hip. He had two extra magazines that wouldn't fit in his ammo pouches. He tied them to the side of his helmet. Lastly, he strapped his backpack on, slipped his cross on, and placed his helmet on. The interior HUD-systems came to life as it connected with his armor. Mago was wearing the light-weight PTRN-IV version of the standard ODST body armor, designed specifically for use in high-tense urban environments where quick mobility was key. It was a bit more slender than the usual body armor, but gave him good maneuverability. When facing Covenant plasma weaponry, there wasn't much you could actually do in the way of having foolproof armor.

There was a pat on his shoulder, and he turned to see Cain. Even though Cain was fully armored with helmet, Mago could tell it was him through the various modifications built into his armor.

"See you groundside," Cain said.

Mago nodded once and shook his hand. As Cain walked off, Mago quickly scanned the rest of the dropbay. In total, there were 149 troopers present for the jump. A lot of them were veterans, but there were also a lot of new people. For a number of them, this would be their first combat drop. That included the new Lieutenant Shepard. As was standard, the platoon leader's pod was placed far away from the secondary leader, to reduce the chances of both getting killed due to various possible insertion hazards. He spotted her all the way on the far side of the dropbay.

He headed over to her pod. She was just getting done loading up when he approached.

"We might get separated on the drop," he told her. "Tends to happen every single time."

"That's why we rendezvous at the bunker," she said in response. She turned her VISR off, revealing her face behind her helmet. Mago did the same. "Depending on our drop spread, chances are that Covenant stragglers from low-orbit will touchdown before the company regroups fully."

"Which means that we need to hustle," he told her.

"Yes. But remember the mission - we're here to save civilians as well."

He waited a beat, then asked, "You're not worried, are you?"

She bit her lip for a second. "I find that I'm always worried these days."

"Glad to see I'm not the only one. Good luck," Mago told her. She returned the statement.

Mago headed back for his pod; the drop was scheduled to happen in less than 1 minute. He could tell that Shepard was anxious and nervous. Everyone was, all the time. The difference was that experienced people could hide it better.

"Orbital insertion protocol initiated; all shock troopers, prepare for fall." The alert blared loudly several times. All light suddenly went out, save for red strobe lights flashing continuously. It provided the only light source in the hold.

Mago strapped himself down into his pod, and the door shut two seconds later. It was pitch black inside, and for that moment, the only thing Mago could hear was his own breathing, and his own heartbeat. Dropping in an insertion pod was kind of similar to a roller-coaster ride. The difference was that this ride stretched up into space, and instead of riding on a safe rail, your were falling all the way down.

Captain Sparr's helmet-transmission feed cut in on Mago's HUD, as well as every other trooper on the operation. Sparr's dark brown face was set in a grim look.

"You know what we're here for; killing any son of a bitch that's dumb enough to step against the UNSC. We're already in hell, troopers. We're just going a bit lower. Oorah!"

A second after that, the dropbay fell open.

Over a hundred black insertion pods tumbled towards Illyrias, momentarily suspended in the limbo of low-orbit. Atmospheric entry had yet to grip hold of the pods, and so the ride was still relatively stable. Looking out the small front window, Mago could make out at least two dozen other small black dots plummeting to the surface. A number of Longsword squadrons flew past at safe distance, maintaining overwatch of the drop. Given that the Covenant fleet would engage Admiral Bren Shepard at any moment now, it was a necessary precaution that fighter escorts cover the insertion.

"When you touch ground, expedite to RV point Alpha at the skybank. If significant Covenant forces breach through before everyone arrives, we backtrack to Bravo," Sparr continued. "Friendly trackers might be down due to interference."

Mago switched on his HUD-map of the city. Illyrias was in many respects just like Pilvros City on New Carthage.

There was a series of beeps inside his pod. A single overhead lamp came on, flashing red, and then dark orange. It was then that atmospheric pressure started to get serious. Small flames began licking up the sides of the pod. It was basic laws of thermodynamics. Some energy always gets released as heat, and in the case of a drop pod falling from orbit, that heat turned into blistering fire. That led to large flames rubbing up against the pod, and most of Mago's view out the window was obscured. The drop pod started shaking violently, and Mago bit down hard to keep his teeth from rattling. Orbital insertions got rough - _very_ rough.

The highest reaching skyscrapers began coming into view, just beyond the clouds. In Illyrias, the time was somewhere around midday. Mago was aware that it was dimly possible that the streets would be hectic, almost in a frenzy. Most of the time, when a population faced a Covenant attack, the civilians tended to lose their grip. That included anything from looting, to reckless driving, all the way to outright murder for possession of potential survival goods. Mago had seen entire cities deteriorate into madness in the face of a Covenant onslaught, and it wasn't pretty. Everyone was potentially a threat. But Macrag had a pretty solid planetary militia. If the Illyrias garrison had done its job and migrated everyone to the bunker, then the city would likely be quiet for the time being.

Mago's ears began popping as his sense of sound got back to working. The first thing he heard was a gargantuan explosion, the force of which caused his pod to rattle even more and made him hold on even tighter. That was the sound of a MAC round firing; an orbital MAC gun at that. Spacewalking too close to a MAC platform when it fired could, quite literally, de-atomize a person from the sheer force of the shot.

Passing through the atmosphere, Mago could see out his window again, and his landing instruments started back working properly. He realized that he'd gotten far, far off-course, along with practically everyone else he could see. Orbital insertions were always inaccurate and sloppy. It was difficult enough to parachute infantry into a good radius. Trying to drop 100 car-sized objects into an area of about 2/3 of a kilometer in radius, from mid to low-orbit distances, and multiplying all relevant factors that could interfere with the drop, was improbable to the point of being meaningless. You just let the pods loose over an area, and hope that they can steer themselves close to where they're supposed to be.

Mago tried his best to correct course, but once you launched out the dropbay, there was only so much you could do. He brought up his HUD-map one last time before he hit the ground, to best gauge where he'd approximately be when he landed.

His parachute opened, and thrusters beneath the pod ignited to help slow his descent. Still, he plummeted hard, losing sight of any other troopers. Illyrias was a great metropolis, and a lot of its buildings held up to that standard in height. He fell in-between a pair of twin buildings, bounced off a third building, crashed through a parking garage on the opposite side of the street, and came to a hard, sudden stop as he hit the ground. His bones shook, and like usual, he coughed uncontrollably for several seconds. His insides hurt, but that pain would go away in time. This was a rough drop, much rougher than average. Any time a drop involved crashing through something, like a building, the drop was interfered with terribly, effecting the landing and control systems.

In turn, his door remained locked as a safety precaution. The pod beeped insistently, urging him to disembark. Mago waited for his eyes to re-focus, then activated his VISR. He thumbed several door-release buttons, and then pulled the emergency latch. The door burst open and flew clear across the garage, smashing into the side of a parked bus. Mago realized he was on top of a car - or rather, the remains of a car. It was pulverized to bits.

Mago took a couple minutes to equip all of his gear, and then hopped out, M7S in hand. Sparr's voice came in on the COM channel.

"...platoon commanders... status update... sign of friendlies," he said.

Mago crouched down behind a recruitment kiosk station and pulled up his HUD-map. There was terrible interference in the audio transmission.

Due to the amount of naval ships operating in low-orbit, the satellite signals that helped operate the live map of Illyrias were basically disabled as well. Similar problems extended to the COMMs network, making it highly difficult to bounce and transmit signals meaningfully. Mago couldn't pick up anyone's location, on top of other problems. According to the map, he needed to move eastward to find the bunker.

Just as he turned it off, he heard a series of footsteps coming from around a corner far off on the other side of the garage. He kept his gun ready, just in case.

An ODST came around the corner. Mago's VISR outlined the trooper, and the FOF tag listed him as LCPL J. Rico. Mago emerged from cover to meet him.

"Rico - You good?" Mago asked him as they linked up. Rico's armor had a couple of long, faint burn marks. It meant that his drop pod must've caught a breach somewhere along the way down. Very, very dangerous. Rico was lucky he could move.

"Yeah," he said, breathing heavily. "I saw your pod come down. Came over soon as I could."

"You see anyone else? Satellites are acting up, so I'm not picking up any location transponders."

"Same here. I haven't seen anyone else, but it looks like the streets are mostly clear. I think most of the city's already been evacuated to the bunker. Most or all."

The Illyrias garrison must've done it's job, then. Good. That made things a lot easier. "There might be stragglers," Mago said. He checked the time on his chronometer. "Let's get a move on."

Together, they emerged from the parking lot into a hot, sunny day. At street level, there wasn't much to be seen. Other than the few abandoned vehicles and shops and buildings, the only other thing to take notice of was the fact that every single sign was urging people to make their way to the nearest safety bunker - which was the place the ODSTs were tasked with protecting. Overhead, faint outlines of the Ninth Fleet could barely be seen.

"Quiet. So far," Mago commented. "But keep your guard up. Like I said, there may be stragglers. And anybody still straggling around at this point might be up to no good. Remember Tanit IV?"

Mago was referencing an incident that'd occured on Rico's first deployment. An outer colony had seen a major URF incursion, and in it's swirling pyramid cities, the only people who hadn't already left had been a bunch of criminal syndicates and gangs. Not quite insurrectionists, but deadly in their own right. They were still threats. It was the same place where Garv had taken out the warlord Bosse.

ODSTs weren't police officers. If anyone made a threatening move, they'd be shot first, with questions asked later. It didn't mean that the only people still here were of ill intentions, but by and large, anyone not yet at one of the shelters would probably be.

"Aye," Rico said. "But I'm looking forward to killing me some Covie ass. Damn bastards always attacking the lightweight worlds. I'd love to see them try Reach. Bastards'll get sent packing, quick."

"Don't be over-eager to put your life in front of a gun," Mago told him. "Even more so a plasma sword."

"Oh, come on man. You telling me you don't get a kick out of this shit? We're Helljumpers man, we live for this."

Mago didn't say anything. But he smiled beneath his helmet.

Even still though, Rico was still new; his only combat experience had been against Insurrectionist forces. Fighting against Covenant was an entirely different ballpark altogether; entirely different sport. Most battles against the Covenant were won or lost up in space. If there's nothing there to put a stop to their glassing, then that's exactly what they do, because it makes sense for them. And those space battles usually didn't last too long. Ground battles were a different story. Depending on what the Covenant were fielding, the UNSC could usually hold its own, if not outright win most engagements. The backbone of their infantry was made up of jackals and grunts, with an occasional elite minor. Higher-ranking elite officers were dangerous, and so were brutes and hunters. But they weren't as common. Despite that, the Covenant were far more deadly than insurrectionists.

Far up above, very faint explosions could be seen. The battle in orbit had started. Debris would soon start to plummet to Macrag's surface, though most of it would burn up in atmosphere. The main UNSC marine force would soon head to the planet to begin their operations, which pretty much consisted of supporting the planetary militia defense across the rest of the world.

About fifteen minutes later, they came across three empty SOEIVs. There wasn't any sign of the Troopers, except for a single abandoned M6. Mago examined the gun closely, and noticed that the loading mechanism was fried. It probably had gotten damaged in a bad landing. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, but off the top, he guessed probably Corporal Pall. Pall always carried two handguns, just in case one of them stopped working. It was against UNSC rules to abandon weapons, but nobody really followed that rule too tough - even Pall, and he was the definition of by-the-book. Handguns were the most unreliable guns in usage, and had been that way for centuries. Looking at all three drop pods, Mago could tell that two of them had come down hard.

He checked his map and plotted a route. Without direct sat-com support, he couldn't get a live-feed of the city. They'd need to tap into the communications stores at the civilian bunker in order to establish any meaningful contact with the fleet.

"They went through this way," Mago said. "I'll take point. We need to link up with our forces before the Covenant get here - and that'll be any minute now."

As if on cue, a number of Covenant dropships came pouring down from the upper atmosphere. Blue dots spread out in the sky in a scattered formation, falling fast. Several of them were leaking dark blueish fluid. Explosions rattled the loose formation as longswords swatted as many of the dropships as they could. Seraph fighters weaved in and out of view, unbelievably fast and agile, outgunning the UNSC forces.

Despite the determined effort by the UNSC, dozens of Covenant dropships made their way down to the surface intact. At least half of them swooped in over Illyrias itself.

Quickly Mago signaled for Rico to get low, and together they dipped into cover beneath a glassy walkway. Distant sounds of gunfire emerged then. Some of it was the loud, thudding clap of automated plasma weaponry. Clipped ballistics fire meshed into it, and before long, the entire city sounded as if it were engaged in a pitched battle. Local planetary defense forces and militia would be situated around the civilian bunker, and so they'd have their hands full. The fight for Illyrias had begun.

Mago kept to the sidewalks and pushed forward carefully. Covenant infantry were likely to be on the ground at this point. He made sure that he had his grenade launcher loaded, just in case. High explosive weaponry was invaluable against the Covenant. Most of their ground forces employed some form of shielding that require massive volumes of force and damage to crack open.

They came up on a massive split in the road. The street began to veer off to the left and right, and inbetween was a large, grassy field, supplemented with plants and trees and a small garden. Large, natural hills and rises made the field look like a miniature mountain range. Standing tall in the center of the field was a statue of a woman. Mago didn't recognize who she was, but assumed she held some significance to the inhabitants of Illyrias. Based on the map, Mago needed to cross the field.

Overhead, a leaking Covenant phantom dipped low and spun haphazardly. Internal explosions ripped through its guts, and it spewed dark, inky fluid. Mago got prone and rolled beneath a canopy of trees lining the side of the field, watching. A dead jackal fell out one of the sides, and the phantom's autocannons hung lifelessly. It plummeted hard, blew through the statue, then finally crashed into a large building directly ahead, awkwardly landing almost upside-down. Rico crawled into position to Mago's left, his gun at the ready. Together, they watched as the phantom slowly settled down. Electronic sparks shot forth from its undercarriage, and a large, gaping hole could be seen on its underside. A powerful missile had probably hit it.

Covenant troops began hopping out, obviously dazed from the crash. Aside from a red-armored elite major, the only other surviving Covenant were a few grunts and a pair of jackal sharpshooters. They hung around the crash site, pulling their dead out from the wreckage. The elite was barking orders the entire time, and was the only one competent enough to scan his surroundings. Mago held still as statue, until the elite's gaze moved past him and returned on the phantom.

Quickly, Mago thumbed the safety on his grenade launcher and loaded a single high-explosive round. This M319 was personal; he'd bought it with his own credits about a year ago, and had personally modded it. Among other modifications, he'd replaced the breech-chamber with a C-7 Foam-coated material. Mago had effectively tripled the blast damage of any explosive rounds he fired. Normally, such an addition would be outrageously dangerous, as the gun itself could explode under certain amounts of stress or friction.

But Mago had worked around that by sealing the interior casing in a ceramic-titanium composite that canceled out any hazardous effects. In total, it'd costed him about 2570 credits to build. And another 1500 after he accidentally destroyed the first one in testing.

The Covenant troops were about 60 yards out. Mago set his sight, then signaled for Rico to fire on his mark.

Mago fired and sent a small, orange ball of raw power sailing through the air. It bounced off the ground a few feet away from the Phantom, arced back into the air, and exploded off the ground right in the middle of the Covenant troops. The force of the blast ripped the grunts apart, sending torn limbs flying. Deadly shrapnel caught into the exposed areas of the Jackals, and they squawked in shock and fear. One of them died. The other one was crippled.

The elite major roared in anger, its energy shielding overloaded from the explosion. It recoiled backwards and bounded into a roll, brandishing twin plasma rifles from out of nowhere. Rico fired on it first, though, and his shots connected. Armor-piercing rounds split the elite from head to toe. Nasty blood spewed from bullet holes, and it managed to fire off a small barrage of plasma before it died. The shots were wild.

The single surviving, crippled jackal limped for cover, desperate to escape. Rico got up on one knee and emptied the rest of his magazine into its back. A smoking, bloody mess was all that was left of it. Together, they aproached the phantom, weapons at the ready just in case.

"Haha! Take that! These punks ain't so tough without their tanks, huh? Fuckin' losers," Rico said as he kicked one of the dead grunts.

"Shut up and take overwatch," Mago snapped at him as he scanned the site.

As expected, he didn't find much of value. A lot of Covenant weapons had fail-safes installed that shut them down if their user died. The best way Mago knew how to get a working plasma gun, was to take it off a live Covenant soldier. He didn't really understand the technology, but it worked damn well. The only other thing of note was what looked like some type of radio transceiver. It was playing some garbled audio recording in a loop. Whatever it was saying, Mago was certain it wasn't friendly. There were several buttons on it, so he pressed one. It turned the volume up. He pressed another, and it shut the recording off. Then he pocketed the tech for later.

"Let's move," Mago said. There was still a lot of fighting to be done, and from what he could hear, it sounded as if it were escalating by the second.

They pushed onwards, past the field and deeper into the city. Mago's last action against Covenant forces had been short and brutal - not nearly on the scale of a city-wide battle like this. There were a lot of first-timers in the company, and not all of them would make it. Out of every 5 new ODSTs, only 1 was expected to make it past the first real test. ODSTs did missions far more asymmetrical, far more difficult, far more complex and demanding than mainline marine forces. When Mago was still a marine regular, he'd only had three combat ops against Covenant. The first two had ended almost as quick as they'd begun. The third one had been more of a stand-up, mechanized frontline battle, and he'd seen a lot of good marines die. Still, all of those ops had something in common - the only thing to worry about was fighting Covenant. As an ODST, missions had objectives that needed to be accomplished, and those missions were almost always covered in black ink.

They had three things to solve in Illyrias: repel the Covenant, guarantee the safety of roughly 112 thousand civilians, and evac several high-priority items and people.

After several more minutes of advancing, they began to come up on a battle site. The sounds of trading gunshots rang loudly.

"Get ready, this is gonna be serious," Mago warned Rico.

Together, they crept up the lefthand side of a narrow street. There was a blasted out building at the corner right up ahead, on the righthand side of the street. They could see UNSC forces fighting hard against unseen Covenant troops. Mago hit the ground hard, narrowly avoiding a stray, fat blob of plasma. Had it connected, he wouldn't have much left of his right shoulder area.

The battle was fierce. Mago could just make out a group of ODSTs, along with what looked like the planetary militia, held up in cover behind a 18-wheeler that'd been flipped onto it's side, trailer and all, fortified with sandbags and barricades and other pieces of cover. The small construction took up half what little of the street Mago could see. They were firing at unseen targets, on the receiving end of a barrage of plasma. They had wounded, too.

Mago signaled for Rico to get close and follow, and they scooted their way to the street corner. They were spotted by one of the wounded militiamen.

"Friendlies!" Mago shouted.

Mago recognized Corporal Pall, as well as Garv and several others. He slid into cover next to Pall, loading a pair of rounds into his grenade launcher.

"God damn is it good to see you," Pall said. Then he turned to look over his shoulder and shouted "Hey Garv, you owe thirty credits man!" Pall said. He turned to look right at Mago. "I told him that betting against you was a waste of time. Nobody bets against Magnum."

"Sitrep," Mago said, doing a head count. In total, there were 22 of them, that's including Mago and Rico. Ten ODSTs, and the rest were militiamen. Half of the militia were wounded. They were armed with old model MA5A assault rifles.

"We came across this squad of militia on our way to the RV; Covenant phantom had 'em pinned. Lucky for us, a broadsword hit that son of a bitch hard, but not before it dropped off its full payload, plus more. Somewhere around 40 infantry. They're dug in tight, and they have a plasma cannon. Long story short, we're fucked."

Mago peeked from behind the double-sealed barricade momentarily. He spotted Covenant troops on either side of the street, in cover behind their own barricades and transparent shield barriers. There was a tower set up deep within their formation, with the plasma cannon set up on top. It opened fire and blazed a nasty trail right towards Mago's head, and he got back down into cover.

"That's why I brought this," Mago said, patting the side of the M319. "We're going to push them."

He turned to Rico, Garv and two other ODSTs. "You four - get ready to bound right." He scanned around briefly. Hot plasma sizzled by overhead, a constant reminder that time was of the essence. Warfare was a two-sided affair; both sides had goals in mind, strategies at play. "Everyone else, lay down crossfire on my mark. And then follow us in 10 seconds."

He rolled out of position and climbed up onto a large crate, then he crawled across to the massive truck, getting onto it's trailer. A bright red logo burnt into the side of the trailer met his eyes. The only thing keeping him from being spotted by the Covenant was a series of small stone barricades placed at awkward angles on the trailer.

One of the additions Mago had added was the second cycling breech-chamber. It allowed him to fire two shots before reloading. It gave the weapon a double-barreled appearance, like an early-model shotgun. He made sure that both were loaded, then he quickly got to his knees.

Mago fired both shots. More firepower came at a cost, and that cost was accuracy. One round bounced off an abandoned car and exploded in front of a jackal phalanx. It blew one back, killed another, and stunned the rest, causing them to lower their shields and expose themselves. The second shot was far more deadly. It blew up on contact with an elite, blowing it to pieces and dust. Nearby grunts were caught in the blast as well, most of them dead on the spot. The explosion rocked the plasma cannon tower, and it fell out the sky, landing on top of a jackal and crushing it instantly. The gunner operating the cannon was stunned, but alive.

The suppressive fire kicked in then, and at the same time, Mago rolled off the truck and landed on the exposed side, M7S Caseless to bear. To his right, Rico and the others pressed forward quickly. In unison, they opened fire with short, calculated bursts. Return fire headed their way; blue and yellow plasma bolts sailed past, but they were inaccurate shots fired from shocked infantry. Mago kept low and moved quick, calling out targets and directing fire, bounding from cover to cover. He tagged a pair of grunts with quick bursts, killing them both before they could fire. He leaped over a dead grunt that was missing its backpack, its body filled with smoking bullet holes. Then, he unloaded a handful of rounds into a black-armored jackal; a skirmisher. It squawked loudly and charged him, brandishing two miniature energy-daggers from its gauntlets. He spent the rest of his magazine until it ran empty, but the skirmisher was still charging.

Mago ducked low and charged it as well. They collided hard, and Mago used its momentum against it, lifting the skirmisher up and over. One of its daggers cut Mago's left shoulder. His armor caught most of it, but he could feel searing pain roiling across his entire arm. He bit back the pain and sent the skirmisher to the ground. It hit the concrete hard, and Mago already had his sidearm in hand. It tried to scramble to its feet madly. Mago fired a point-blank shot into it the crown of its head, exploding its dome right on the spot. Messy bits and blood splattered out in all directions, and its lifeless body slumped back to the ground.

"Don't let up!" Mago shouted as he knelt down into cover momentarily. He reloaded his caseless, and took a brief moment to check his wound. A small slit opened a gash in his shoulder pauldron, the surrounding material burning an angry, dark red. The cut was cauterized. Mago had to bite his lip to keep from yelling in pain. He had a very high tolerance for pain, but energy blades were particularly deadly weapons. If he didn't biofoam the wound soon, he wouldn't be able to use his arm.

Corporal Pall came rushing to his side, firing at enemy targets as he got into cover. "You need to fall back - We need to get you a corpsman!"

"I'm good," Mago said, shaking his head. "They're breaking - keep up the pressure on them. Focus on the elite; Go!"

Mago took a second to catch his breath, and then followed. His wound could wait.

The elite was a major. It roared in anger, unfazed by the assault. Rico and Garv pressed it from the right side of the street, but its shielding didn't break. Both Mago and Corporal Pall were forced into cover by a pair of jackal marksmen, firing energy carbines just over their heads. They couldn't help take down the elite, and were instead forced to keep their heads down behind one of the strange Covenant barricades. The elite lifted an arm to the sky, where an energy sword suddenly materialized from its hand. A team of grunts from way back in the rear, at least seven of them, were roused by the sight and charged forwards.

Damn it. Mago didn't have time to reload his grenade launcher. He primed a frag grenade, and tossed it straight ahead at the jackal shooters. As they went to escape the blast radius, both Mago and Pall emerged from behind the barricade and opened fire on them. Their combined fire brought both jackals down, shredding through their light armor and tearing through ligaments. A group of four skirmishers emerged from cover then, all of them shrieking maniacally. One of them, decked out in black armor with red trimmings and an extravagant headpiece, leaped with superhuman strength, gaining position on top of a light pole. It pointed at both Mago and Pall and screeched out some command, then beat on its chest. The other three skirmishers suddenly charged at them, jumping and bounding across the distance with savage intent. Pall opened fire with his battle rifle and scored a direct hit on the commanding skirmisher. It clutched at wounds in its chest and neck before plummeting to the ground.

From the rear, the rest of their forces were starting to push forward and offer support. The remaining three skirmishers all had twin plasma pistols, with small energy shields attached to their forearms. Mago focused on the leading one, shooting in controlled bursts. Most of his rounds bounced off its shields, but at least one managed to slip through, cracking open a seal in its armor. It spun and hopped off to the side at an awkward angle, changing direction at breakneck speed, yet still pushing forwards as it bounded across the tops of cars. Mago aimed for its legs and found purchase. The skirmisher tripped up as its legs burst open from gunshot wounds. It fell hard and crashed into the back of a van. The other two skirmishers were cut down by combined fire from the others, only managing to get off a few shots.

Mago looked across the street, just in time to see Garv get impaled by the elite's energy sword. It held Garv up, high off the ground, with its twin blades protruding from his back. The elite snarled at Garv, then tossed him aside. Rico tried to attack it, but it swatted him away with a powerful backhand. With a handful of grunts pressing the position, Rico had no choice but to scramble away on his backside, firing wildly with his M6.

"Focus fire!" Mago shouted.

The elite pulled out a plasma rifle, fired a handful of plasma bolts at Mago's position, and rolled out of sight, its energy shield just bursting from the high volume of gunfire. Both Mago and Pall ducked low to avoid getting hit. But the militiaman behind them wasn't as quick. Two of the rounds connected with the man. The first hit him in the square-on and burnt through his light armor easily. A smoldering black hole was burned into his chest. When he fell to his knees, the second round smashed into his face, killing him instantly. The corpsman rushed to the man immediately, but there was no point; he was already dead.

Across the street, Rico had managed to crawl his way out of danger. The grunts had been cut to shreds. All that was left was the elite. It'd dipped behind a large utility truck, out of sight. Mago hand-signaled for everyone to form up in a V-formation. Then he split everyone up; he sent half the ODSTs around the right side of the truck, and everyone else followed him around the open left side. They pressed the position slowly and simultaneously.

Mago rounded the truck first, ready to shoot.

He didn't see anything but a blood trail, leading off down the street. He squinted, and could just barely make out the fluttering movements of the elite as it turned tail, making its escape.

"He's not getting away. This one's mine," Mago told everyone, his voice etched in hatred. He wasn't about to let this one get away, not today.

"Hey, wait a minute - what about your arm? Just let it go, Mag. Regulations disallow these types of actions," Pall asked.

Mago ignored him and unbuckled his backpack, letting it drop to the ground. Then he sprinted after the elite.

Elites were fast, undoubtedly. Their physiology afforded them stronger and more efficient anatomy. But this one was already somewhat wounded. And Mago was determined. He charged down the street as fast as he could, weaving in-between abandoned vehicles and slipping past signs, gaining ground. The elite looked over its shoulder and spotted him; it fired a handful of shots to slow him down. They were wild shots, not threatening to Mago in the slightest. Seeing that, the elite then took the time to stop and aim, and fired another series of plasma rounds. Mago side-stepped and got behind a tall advertisement sign. Half of the shots splashed onto the other side of the ad. The other half whizzed by harmlessly. After another pair of wild shots, Mago glanced out from behind the sign to see the elite running once again. He took the time to sling his M7S, and then pulled his combat knife from its holster, then he ran after the elite once more.

As Mago got within close range of the elite, it abandoned its plasma rifle altogether and broke off to the right, dipping into an alleyway. Mago rounded the corner and followed, bearing down on it incessantly. There was very little light inside the alley, as most of it was blocked out by shadow, making the small area dark and menacing. Mago's VISR kicked in and afforded him clear vision.

The elite took the time to block the path with a series of trash bins, hoping to slow Mago down. Instead, Mago barreled past them and leaped through the air. He caught the elite as it attempted to turn, tackling it at full-tilt. Together, they crashed to the ground in a tussle of limbs, rolling for several feet against the hard concrete ground. Because its shield was still out, Mago had good grip on the elite, which was all he needed. He stabbed his knife down hard into an exposed area around its shoulder, and the elite howled in pain and anger. Enraged, the elite tossed Mago across the alley, hard. Mago smashed up against the wall, but he got back to his feet quick.

For the moment, they both circled each other. The elite spread its mandibles and activated its energy sword, and then attacked at blinding speed. Had Mago been off the mark by half a second, he would've gotten killed. Instead, he spun out of the way, dodging the stab. Then he gripped the elite's forearm and brought his knife down into the exposed joint area, searing through flesh and cartilage. Horrid blood spurted from the wound, showering Mago's armor like bad paint. The elite gave him a hard elbow that cracked a seal in his chestplate, stunning Mago and causing him to stumble backwards in pain. It was unbelievably strong. Then it went for a follow-up attack, swiping at his head. Mago ducked it. The VISR struggled to keep up with the change in light, flickering momentarily as the bright energy sword swooped just above Mago's head.

With such an attack, the elite was left exposed. Mago jumped on the opportunity and charged, ramming into it head-on. At the same time, he went for a final stab, right in its gut area. This was going to be it. Mago ran it up against the wall, then used all of his strength to pull his knife to the side, serrating the elite's innards. It went for a last, desperate attack, attempting to shove Mago back. But with its strength sapped at this point, it couldn't do anything against Mago. It struggled for several moments more as the knife was held in place. Finally, the elite twitched a few times before going slack. The energy sword fell to the ground and deactivated. Then, Mago let the elite fall to the ground.

Its lifeless corpse slumped up against the wall, its head hung low at an awkward angle. Mago pulled his knife out and stumbled backwards in exhaustion, falling to his backside. He sat up against the opposite wall, staring at the creature. Pink-colored guts and innards slowly spilled out of its wound, dripping with blood and fluid. The same dark blood oozed out of its mouth, like drooling saliva. There was so much of it pooling on the ground, like someone had spilled a bucket.

Mago pulled off his helmet and sucked in a lungful of air. He noticed that his own armor was splotched with the alien's blood. Especially his gloves. He tried to shake some of it off. The blow to his chest had hurt something, because Mago couldn't breath without suffering from internal pain. He groaned loudly. Then, Mago remembered his shoulder wound he'd gotten from the skirmisher. The pain kicked in there, and he gritted his teeth. Everything on his body ached already, and the operation had only just begun.

This was going to be a long day.

"Hey!" a voice shouted to his left. Mago turned to see one of the militia guys. "Here he is!"

Mago pulled himself to his feet and slipped his helmet back on, wiping his hands on his legs. He gave his knife a hard shake, and the blood coating it splattered off. As he put it back in its holster, the rest of the mixed ODST-militia force entered the alley. Several of the militia were limping badly; some of them had bandages wrapped around their heads, and others had bandages wrapped around their chests. John Rico was limping as well, and had his helmet off, a dazed look in his eye. He was carrying Garv's dogtags in his hands. They all took notice of the scene in silence.

Corporal Pall stepped forwards from the group and dropped Mago's pack on the ground, then shook his head. "Our ROE forbids these types of actions for a reason," Pall started. "That was an unnecessary risk, sergeant."

Mago picked up his pack and walked up to Pall, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "I decide what's necessary and what isn't. Now fall in line."

Mago brushed past him then. This was war, and it wasn't pretty. Rules had no place in combat. Everyone gave him a slight nod of confidence as he headed back out the alley. He stopped by Rico. The young trooper met his gaze for a moment, before looking down at Garv's tags. Then he gave them to Mago.

"You hold onto them," he told Rico. "You're doing good, but don't forget what I told you earlier. We don't do this because we want to, we do this because we have to."

* * *

"The next wave will be here any minute," Captain Sparr said. "Rictus hasn't showed up still?"

Even though she was standing beside the captain, shoulder to shoulder, Jane shook her head. "Nope. Everyone from second platoon has gotten here already, except for him and a few others."

The captain cursed quietly. "We need him to get this system back online. He might be dead."

Jane considered that possibility.

"At any rate," Sparr continued. "We need to get a move on to the ONI blacksite. Which means it's time to split forces. I'm going to take the first with me."

Jane nodded. Two lieutenants had died an hour ago, in the previous assault. Including a handful of other good ODSTs, as well as a number of the planetary militia. As it now stood, the Illyrias City Fallout Bunker was being protected by 255 infantryman, over half of whom were in the militia guard. They had a few vehicles in play from the Illyrias motor-pool. There were 5 standard LAAG-warthogs in operating condition, all of them hunkered down beneath dense sandbag protection. But the only heavy vehicles at their disposal was the last remaining M850 Grizzly Tank, and a locked-down Cobra. Together, the two tanks provided stunning firepower; but the Covenant had their own firepower to work with.

"We need to get ready for the next attack," Ti Michka said, placing her helmet back on.

Staff Captain Ti Michka of the Illyrias Noble Guard Regiment had proven instrumental in keeping the bunker from collapsing under Covenant assault. She'd served on the Guard for several years prior, and had previously fought against an insurrectionist force operating on Macrag.

"Agreed," Jane said as she put her own helmet on.

Captain Sparr unslung his assault rifle and slid down the ladder of the gun tower. "Remember," he said from below. "When Magnum gets here, make sure he gets to work on the sat-node."

Jane nodded. Capable technicians were getting far more rare these days than they used to be. The skillset was just not that common among the UNSC-UEG population. By and large, the younger generation, at this point in the war, had far less technical skills than prior generations. That was mostly due to the fact that, for the last two decades, practically everything in UNSC society was geared towards combatting the Covenant. Most of the people who did have the skillset tended to work in the civilian market themselves. The costs and time involved in training up skilled field-techs prevented the UNSC from adequately producing many of them. And of those few, even fewer still found themselves among the ranks of the ODSTs. Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus was a rare breed.

As Sparr headed off, Jane looked back out across the scene ahead. The bunker itself was a massive, stone fortress that started right in the mouth of a hole carved into the side of a mountain. It extended for over a kilometer into the mountain, affording its deepest area very sturdy protection against aerial bombardment from any forces, whether it be Covenant or someone else. Its exterior portion was where the defense was stationed at. A series of interconnected pillboxes and stone-guardhouses made up the entrance to the bunker, facing out across an open area that was mostly covered in shadow, due to the overhead 'ceiling' provided the mountain itself. Various gun emplacements and mortar pits were set up along the pillboxes. The gun tower itself, where Jane was, sat at the peak of the exterior fortress, far above groundlevel to offer a view of the entire battlefield.

The open area leading up to the fortress was itself heavily defended. Intricate layers of barbwire tracked across the ground. Dense sandbag fortifications were set up, affording the relevant infantry forces solid cover. Complex trench networks criss-crossed back and forth around the field.

Almost all of their available troops were currently dug-in down there on the ground level, alongside their vehicles. Only just enough infantry were left inside the pillbox network to operate the guns. That way, should the first line of defense fall, they'd have somewhere solid to transition to.

"Think they'll be giving up soon?" Michka asked then.

Jane wasn't sure if she was referring to the Covenant or not. "You mean them, right?"

"Yes."

"I think we've done a good job so far, but I expect their next attacks will only grow harder. They know what we're packing, what we're capable of, and they'll adjust accordingly." It wasn't in the Covenant's nature to give up easily once they set their sights on a civilian population. It was literally religious practice for them - killing humans.

"In any case, we should reform the lines. The first and second lines both," Michka said.

Jane agreed. Looking out across the field, she could make out the destruction that'd been wrought on the first two primary trench lines. Most of the fortifications had been blown away entirely. A smoking crater was left behind from where the last gauss warthog had been. Wounded were still being carried into the heart of the fortress itself.

Together, Jane and Ti got down from the tower and headed down below. Off in the distance, the high rise of Illyrias's skyscrapers could be seen stretching just above the nearby hills. Every now and then, the faintest outlines of Covenant dropships could be seen dipping into the city, presumably dropping off ground forces. Most of the UNSC's air superiority had been drained due to their sheer numbers. There were only so many longswords, and even they had to go back for rearmament and refueling. Trying to fight off Covenant seraphs and banshees, as well as strafe their landing dropships, was a tall order. Jane could only imagine the swarm that'd be overtaking the city if the Ninth Fleet wasn't screening most of them.

Anyone still within the heart of Illyrias would find hell trying to stay alive.

After climbing down a series of ceramic-titanium pillboxes and miniature forts, Jane and Ti finally touched solid ground, where they then split up. Michka went about orchestrating the ammo supplies and redirecting machine gun pits. Militia troops were stalking back and forth, resupplying ammunition and equipment alike. They were a very well-coordinated and professional garrison force.

Making her way to the very front, Jane came upon Sergeant Lucius Cain and a number of other ODSTs, busy carving out foxholes and rebuilding gun lanes.

"I gotta be honest with you, this ain't looking good," Cain said.

"What makes you say that?"

The sergeant held his hands out, highlighting the entire scene. "Hell, we ain't got enough numbers. Especially now that the captain just took the first with him. Between them, the wounded and the dead, we're out of 60 troopers."

"We don't need numbers alone to win," Jane told him. "They might bring more firepower, but Covenant always get reckless when they start to lose, and they've been losing all day."

"Maybe we should give up some ground. We're getting a little too exposed here," the sergeant suggested.

Jane studied the surrounding area. Every time the line was bombarded, it lost cohesion. Defensive fortifications, like protective sandbag walls and shielded barricades, had been steadily whittled away until most of them were just pieces. And it took a long time to rebuild those defenses. The only sort of protection at the front was the main trench line itself, but trenches alone weren't that good against Covenant.

He was right. She decided to defer to his judgment. She'd grown to like Cain over the last few days. "Alright, we'll go with that. But we'll mine this area. Spread the word down the -"

"-Contact! Covenant dropships, straight ahead! Dozens of them!"

On cue, a plasma bombardment rippled the ground ahead, the explosions moving in a straight line towards the defensive front. A number of rounds from the leading Covenant phantoms soared across the sky as they barreled down on the fortress. About 30 yards to her right, a trio of shock troopers were vaporized by a direct hit. Chunks of dirt and mud and bone rained down in a haze. There was a red mist where the troopers had been. Overhead, a fat blob of plasma arced high into the air; it was a round from a wraith tank. Jane watched as it scored a direct hit on one of the remaining warthogs. The entire vehicle erupted in a fiery blaze, incinerating the gunner. Several nearby militia troops were hit by the blast as well, either being blown into pieces or being vaporized outright. As the rest of the Covenant opening barrage connected with their defenses, the fronter-most lines broke down into complete disarray.

"Fall back!" Jane shouted as loudly as she could, trying to get everyone to retreat in an orderly fashion. They needed to get into the trenches for cover. A desperate run out in the open would be fatal.

With Cain and a handful of others behind her, Jane hopped down into the trench line and ran along it, rounding up everyone she came across. The trench was deep enough to the point where she couldn't see over the lip without standing on something, but she could hear and feel the long-range bombardment. A dead shock trooper collapsed into the trench just ahead of her. She went to reach for his dog tags, but when she flipped the body over, she realized that half of his torso was missing entirely. Melted bone and jagged, blackened flesh fell off the body in a nasty, grotesque pile.

Up ahead, a militiaman came around the upcoming corridor, his entire body caught on fire. The man screamed in agony, stumbling around madly. There was nothing Jane could do. He ran towards her, face contorted in horror and suffering, and she barely stepped out of the way in time. Sergeant Cain kicked the man to the ground, pulled out his pistol, and shot the man in the head, ending his misery.

Jane was breathing heavily.

"We need to get out of here!" Cain said.

"Right! Follow me!" Jane said as she continued to lead the way.

Just as she turned back around, a close explosion rocked her world and sent her flying. Her hearing went out, and all she could see was stars. Then she crashed back down into the trench, far away from where she'd been standing. Rocks and dirt showered her, and she wasn't sure if she could feel it. Her gun had been lost in the blast.

After several moments of blinking her vision clear, Jane felt a sharp, blistering pain in her leg. She looked down to see a small piece of ceramic metal protruding from just above her knee, where her armor was weak. It wasn't a bad wound, but it hurt like hell and brought Jane back into focus. It took her three seconds to pull out the ragged piece of shrapnel, and yelped in pain.

Laying with her back up against the trench wall, Jane looked to her right to see that the trench had been cut off entirely by a wall of soil and dirt and mud. That was where the explosion had been. There was no way to know if anyone else survived the blast - Jane presumed that the others were on the far side. At any rate, Jane needed to keep moving. She found her battle rifle halfway dug into the earth below, and pried it from the ground.

Jane wobbled on her feet for a moment before steadying herself. She looked around to gain her bearings, and then set back off for the second defensive line. She hoped that Michka was still alive.

There was a brief lull in the bombardment as the Covenant slowed down their attack. They were probably dropping off their infantry forces at this point, most likely. As if to certify her thoughts, a tall, dark-black armored jackal bounded into the trench in front of her. A skirmisher. It gave a piercing shriek of confidence, before igniting an energy dagger strapped to its wrist.

Jane wasted no time and opened fire. Her battle rifle was set to semi-automatic fire, so she squeezed the trigger repeatedly. At first, it looked as if the skirmisher wouldn't go down. It charged at her in defiance, with armor-piercing rounds shredding it apart. Streaks of blood erupted from the creature as it died mid-stride, not even 3 feet away. Dark, sick fluids spilled out of its opened mouth and out of its wounds.

Jane pressed forward past the dead corpse, reloading her gun. The wound in her leg slowed her down, giving her a bad limp. It was pain that she could handle though, and she was determined to stay alive.

By the time she made her way to the next defensive line, she'd forgotten all about the pain in her leg.

The ground rose in a slight hillclimb to a series of connected sandbag and barricade fortifications, armed to the teeth in machine gun nests and firing stations. Dozens of others were making their way back to safety, but there were dozens more who hadn't made it. Blistering gunfire from LMGs and autocannons lit up the battlefield, firing in the direction of Jane's rear, providing as much covering fire as possible. Plasma bolts splashed angrily into the defensive line in turn.

The trench line ahead turned into a makeshift stairway leading up the slope to that next set of defenses, and Jane pressed forward, her head down low. Several militia troopers covered her approach with automatic weapons fire that sizzled over her head. Just as she made it up to the trench line, there was a bone-rattling concussive explosion from nearby to her left - the SP42 tank. It did a double-fire of its twin railgun cannons, snapping off a pair of high-velocity ferrous slugs. Jane turned just in time to see a Covenant phantom get pierced through and through by the sheer kinetic force of the shot. Internal engines aboard the phantom erupted in an inky, fiery blaze. A follow up shot came from the M850 Grizzly to her right, as it fired its twin cannons as well. Grizzly tanks packed twin M310 guns that were far more devastating than those placed on standard scorpion tanks. The phantom was split in mid-air from an earth-shattering detonation. The concussive force alone was powerful enough to lift large chunks of debris even further into the air. Whatever had been aboard the phantom was certainly dead. And the Covenant troops on the ground beneath it were caught underneath a hail of broken phantom. There was cheering from some of the militia as the tanks scanned for their next targets.

Jane made her way towards the grizzly tank.

The air was thick with the smell of burnt flesh, blood and burning gunsmoke; Jane could sense it all despite having her helmet on. Hazy grey gunsmoke filled the air as well, slightly fogging up vision. But Jane could see enough; she directed firing lines as she moved. There were wounded troops being carried from the front by the dozen. Militia regulars were screaming in sheer agony from gruesome plasma burns and wounds. A pair of medics were carrying an ODST on a stretcher-bearer through the packed trench line. A close plasma explosion sent a shockwave through the ground and caused them to fall in a big heap right in front of Jane. She could see that the ODST was missing a leg, and the sudden shock of collapsing to the hard ground had cause the wound to become irritated. Dark red blood spewed freely, showering the two medics as they scrambled to reseal the leg. The trooper screamed maniacally before passing out from shock and pain. Jane took the time to help them get the trooper back onto the stretcher-bearer.

"Make _certain_ that doesn't happen again. Now move!" she ordered the Noble Guard medics.

Jane then continued forward. She still hadn't seen Ti Michka, but she assumed that the staff captain was inside the main pillbox-guardhouse fortress itself, directing artillery and mortar fire. It was her specialty.

And Jane still had no way to know if Cain had survived. If he was dead, then the only high-ranking people still left to direct defenses was Jane, Michka, and the Illyrias Noble Guard Royal Commander, Bhe Iktha. Iktha's position was more of a formality; a spot offered to him due to his prominent political status on the planet as a whole. He was a man who decided what battles that the guard would fight, and that was it. He was a glorified politician. Which explained why he was deep within the safety of the mountain, instead of out here in the thick of the fight. There were a few other NCOs of the guard still alive, but none of them were experienced. And of the ODST force, as far as Jane understood, she was the only surviving officer here. Sparr had taken first platoon, along with their two lieutenants. The rest were dead or MIA.

By the time she made it to the grizzly tank, the Covenant had already taken control of the ground covering the first line of defense, and had managed to dig in. The grizzly tank was pocketed inside a large dugout, where the only thing that was above ground was its primary and secondary guns. The surrounding area was a large, circular defense zone, lined with a 5-foot tall sandbag-ceramic wall. Several ODSTs were here, including a number of the militia guard. Two of the guardsmen were operating a short-range mortar cannon.

Jane kept low and made her way to the front of the sandbag wall and peered over briefly. She could see the Covenant infantry forces inching their way forwards, trying to push underneath a hail of concentrated crossfire. They had a number of vehicles in operation, most of them being revenants and ghosts, with a pair of wraith tanks deployed at the far rear of their lines. With the SP42 Cobra keeping their phantoms grounded, the Covenant had no aerial support. Not even banshees could make a difference in such a defensive position.

She turned to the ODST next to her - Corporal Jain Zarr. "We're going to lay down suppressive fire for you on this area," Jane said, pointing to a spot at 10 o'clock where at least 100 grunts and jackals were busy scrapping their way forward. "When we do, take out that revenant."

Zarr hefted her rocket launcher and nodded affirmatively, "I got this."

Then Jane turned to the others. "Clear the backblast - and focus fire on them in 3!"

After three seconds went by, ODSTs and guard militia alike opened up at once on the encroaching Covenant troops. The hail of gunfire shook the grunts and jackals, and they hunkered down to keep from being split apart. At the same time, Jane rolled out of position and made her way to the grizzly tank. Zarr had enough time to take aim before firing at the revenant. Dust and smoke disbursed through the air as the missile sailed to the revenant. Zarr fired a second shot as well, and the same thing happened.

"We got it!" Zarr said enthusiastically.

Jane hopped down onto the grizzly and opened the driver hatch. Smoke billowed out from a lit cigar. Inside was an old militia guardsman, at least 60 years of age, his face set in a grin as he looked at the computer-feed of the battlefield before him. Jane couldn't believe he was smoking inside of a grizzly tank. If the hatch hadn't had its vents installed, the man would've died long ago from choking to death, and from short-circuiting the electronics system.

"All my life in this damned Guard, only thing we had to fight was some small-scale skirmishes against innie bastards," he said without looking up at Jane. He cackled hysterically for a moment before clearing his throat. "But _this_ is what I've been waitin' my whole life for! Lord _knows_ I couldn't have asked for a better fight to be my last one! Hell, I was s'posed to retire today! Figure that, huh? Well hot damn, I might just say 'fuck a retirement', if we get to do this shit from now on."

"Good," Jane told him. At least someone was having fun. "Can you see that wraith back there, to the far left?"

The man shook his head. "I knew they had one of them bitches out there, but I ain't picking it up on ma scanners. Didn't figure these bastards to be into hiding like cowards."

Jane stood up for a second then and magnified her HUD to full-zoom. She'd spotted the wraith shrouded behind a small cluttering of thick, massive trees, where it was hidden from sight. It thought it could fire its mortar gun without fear of counter-attack. A critical mistake that Jane was about to expose.

"You see those trees, then?"

"Unh huh, yeah. Don't tell me he's behind those?! Ohhh, _man._ There ain't no protecting yourself from Big Bailey, now."

Jane assumed that Big Bailey was the name of the tank. "Can you shoot it?"

The old man laughed again before erupting into a fit of coughing. That smoking was going to get him killed, soon. "Ya hear that, Bailey? She asked me if you can kill that bastard," he said. Then he shut the hatch without further word.

Jane hurriedly got off the tank and got some distance from it. She realized that she hadn't gotten the man's name.

Rotary engines spun to life inside the tank as it took aim. There was a small series of clangs as the autoloader cycled two rounds into the twin chambers. External loudspeakers built into the tank blared out the pilot's message.

"Stand clear - this sum'bitch is _mine!_ " the old man exclaimed.

He wasted no time. A second later, the grizzly fired. The deafening thunder was punctuated by a concussive wave, sending out heat and dust and grit in all directions. Jane could feel it in her chest. Across the battlefield, the dual M310 rounds slugged through the series of massive, thick trees as if they were wet tissue. The wraith was hit a moment later, dead on. It looked like a bomb had gone off. Wreckage and debris spewed out wildly, suffused in a mixture of fire and inky fluids. A small plume stretched upwards towards the sky. The Covenant troops who'd been near the blast had been killed or wounded. The entire area was wiped away.

A small victory.

Jane realized she'd been holding her breath, and started to breathe again. The battle wasn't over, though.

"Incoming Covenant! Elites! They're fucking _right there!_ " a guard militiaman shouted suddenly, pointing downhill towards the encroaching enemy.

"Focus on them!" Jane said, rushing to her feet and bringing her gun to bear. She fed it a fresh magazine, and the ammo counter returned to 36.

ODSTs and militia alike rushed to the front sandbags, opening fire at targets Jane couldn't see. Zarr pointed out targets, and fired off a shot from her rocket launcher.

Before Jane could make it over to help, a towering elite warrior smashed through the sandbags entirely, sending several militia guard rolling backwards completely. It was magnificent, vile and murderous, all in one. It's shoulder pauldrons were banded with silver-blue metallic pieces that shined, despite not being in sunlight, and their tips sloped upwards very high. It's head was covered in a brilliant, Sun orange, backswept helmet, with its collar area surrounded by a decorative fur cloak. Twin plasma swords extended from each hand. Jane had never seen anything like it; it had to be some type of commander. A field marshal?

The elite raised its arms to the sky and bellowed a gut-clenching warcry. Every single militiaman on site scrambled away in fear and in awe, their morale completely shattered by the beast. Another pair of elites emerged through the sandbag wall, both of them clad in similar armor, though they weren't bristling in gold and white like the leading elite. They were sporting the blood red armor of elite officers.

"Take them down!" Jane shouted. She opened fire alongside the rest of the ODSTs, hoping to take the elites down with swift, controlled bursts.

The elite marshal bounded into action as its shields flickered. It spun in one smooth arc and cut through the nearest ODST in one wipe, separating the trooper's head. Then, it spun in a glorious circle in the opposite direction, almost as if it were dancing, and cut down a number of unlucky guardsmen. The elite was a force of nature, shocking in its brutal efficiency. Jain Zarr tried to suppress it with a sustained spray from a machine gun she'd picked up. Despite the barrage of rounds, the elite's shield held. It rolled and spun its way towards her, killing another ODST in the process. Zarr tried to step away, but the elite caught her with a backhand, sending her flying back downhill towards the rest of the Covenant army.

"Keep up the pressure and fall back!" Jane shouted to the few standing troopers.

The coaxial machine guns on the grizzly opened fire then, blazing away at the elites in close proximity, where the bullets would do the most damage. At the same time, Jane primed a frag grenade from her belt and tossed it.

The elite marshal was inhumanly quick, and dashed out of danger. One of the elite majors caught the brunt of the coaxial guns, and its weaker energy shielding failed to protect it. Grizzly tanks had a reputation for a reason. Huge scores of gunshot holes, the size of golfballs, battered away at the elite. Sections of its armor were blown off completely, including an arm limb. It collapsed in a sick, smoking heap, weighted down by an excess amount of lead stuck in its corpse.

The other elite major dived out of harm's way, but caught the brunt of the frag grenade in the process.

"Focus him up!" Jane said as she spotted the opportunity.

In unison, she and the few other ODSTs unloaded concentrated fire on the elite. It's shields flared and popped. They scored several direct hits on the exposed elite, but it managed to hop back over the sandbag wall, barely alive.

Switching targets, Jane scanned for the elite marshal. It was already on the move, and it leaped through the air in a high arc. In place of one of its energy swords, the elite had produced a fat needler gun, and it opened fire mid-air. Several pink ruler-sized shards of hard crystal flooded through the air, forcing everyone to get down. Jane rolled behind an ammo crate, barely dodging a pair of the deadly crystals. One of the other ODSTs wasn't so lucky. Jane heard a scream of despair, and peeked out from behind the ammo crate to see the trooper stumbling around with four bloated, glowing needles sticking out of his stomach. They'd landed in a straight horizontal line. A second later, the needles exploded. Chunks of bone and armor and organs erupted in a red haze. The trooper's entire frontal torso had been pried out, as if someone had attempted a bad autopsy on him. The dead body fell to its knees and stood like that for a few seconds, before it hit the ground entirely.

Gritting her teeth in anger, Jane stood up from cover, eager to kill the elite marshal.

But, it was standing on the grizzly tank, holding the old tank pilot up by one arm. Jane realized then that the grizzly tank must've been the elite's objective. The old man managed to free an arm, and slapped the elite across the face, the cigar still hanging from his lips. The elite snarled at the pilot before spitting him through with its energy sword. The elite ripped the sword out violently, tearing through old tendons and organs, turning the man's body into an odd, nasty shape where innards hung freely. The man hadn't even had time to scream in pain, and was tossed aside like a ragdoll, his cigar rolling across the ground.

Jane switched her battle rifle to burst-fire mode and shot to kill. She ran her ammo counter dry as she opened up on the elite, and cursed as she reloaded as quickly as she could. The elite's shields finally gave way, and it retreated backwards to safety. It's job was done here. It tossed a wild plasma grenade that forced the ODSTs back into cover, and by the time it exploded, the elite was gone.

* * *

Admiral Bren J. Shepard wasn't an old man. He wasn't a young man either. He was somewhere inbetween. Strikingly, Bren wasn't quite certain what his exact birthday was. The meaning of time had changed over the last few centuries. Dates and record-keeping had grown more difficult by the decade. Accurate measurement of time across an empire that stretched throughout multiple systems was a task that fell somewhere in the middle of the spectrum between artistic talent and technical skill. Different groups and planets operated on different dating systems.

The most common method was the standard UNSC Military Calendar, which served the most precise 'date' in terms of the month and year, linked all the way back in time to the earliest dating records of humanity. Exact times, however, were a different matter. There was no true, official 'time of day' across the UEG, but there was a date. The closest thing to an official time was the measurements used back on Earth in a 24-hour clock to determine when the next 'day' passed for the military calendar. Each individual planet tended to run by its own clock, which reset at 0000 hours every time that planet rotated once. A 26-hour period on Reach represented one full rotation of its axis, but it didn't represent one full 'day' for the official Military Calendar. Because different planets had different rotational speeds. On Reach, the date could go from February 26 to February 27 in broad daylight. Not every world worked by these methods, but most of them did. Suffice it to say, time and date measurements were very complex affairs due to the relative nature of time itself.

Keeping track of someone's birthday was equally not as intuitive as one might think. It was especially difficult for someone like Bren, who'd been born aboard a desolate space station somewhere off the gravity coast of Io. Bren wasn't quite certain what his exact birthday was.

But he did know that he'd lived a long life. And he'd lost quite a lot of things in his lifetime. He was going to lose a lot more in the years to come. He was going to lose things that mattered, he was going to lose things he cared little for, he was most certainly going to lose his cool, and he was going to lose his life at some point. He was going to lose a lot.

But this battle wasn't going to be one of them.

"Fire wave one," Bren stated into his COM unit.

At once, the _Despair's Light_ shuttered, as if it were shivering from the coldness of space itself. Overhead lights flashed and flickered before stabilizing. A deep rumble, like a growl, diffused throughout the ship. Out of the front viewports, two high-power MAC rounds speared their way across space, their luminescent color creating a vibrant contrast against a black background. Several other MAC rounds, from the nearby Destroyer escorts, joined in.

Just as Bren had predicted, the massive Covenant battleship hit its thrusters hard, propelling itself to starboard at max speed. It barreled through a field of broken detritus - the remains of a civilian transport vessel that'd foolishly attempted to flee Macrag hours earlier, in the early stages of the space battle.

As the cruiser sped out of harm's way, it revealed the targets immediately to its rear - a pair of frigates, in position around a colossal capital battlecruiser. In desperate fashion, the frigates moved to guard the front of the cruiser using themselves. But the MAC rounds crashed into the formation at ungodly speeds. The first two nailed one of the frigates on its port flank, the highy-powered rounds shredding through the lightweight Covenant ship before detonating within its interior. The frigate was cracked in half, losing entire sections to space and gravitational forces.

The other four MAC rounds scored direct hits on the Covenant flagship. The first two managed to break through the energy shielding around the nose of the cruiser. The next two follow-up rounds hit the unprotected bow in unison, searing into its armor plating, crumpling it up like paper. A small series of detonations erupted along its portside edge, and a large chunk of the ship listed off from the rest of the body.

"Fire wave two," Bren said, still staring through the viewports in concentration.

Frigates from the rear portside flank of the Ninth Fleet fired off a series of dud-missiles - unarmed archer rockets that had no explosive warheads attached, operating purely off of kinetic force. Those duds hit a series of asteroids arrayed in a staggered pattern in front of the fleet. Upon arriving in-system, Bren had opted to tow a number of the rocks from the nearby belt, specifically for war purposes. Hit at the right angle, with the right amount of force, an asteroid could be propelled up to speeds reaching 20-25% lightspeed, and even faster. Any object could, really. It was called 'pushing', and it worked well on sail-based starships that lacked slipspace drives. You could push an object to go, technically speaking, as fast as you want, provided you had the right tools for the job.

But this job was warfare, and asteroids were perfect weapons - improvised RKKVs, or Relativistic Kinetic Kill Vehicles. Such weapons had been pure theory and speculation once, back in the 20th and 21st century. Now, they were actual.

Long streams of missiles slapped the backside of several relatively small asteroids that'd already been set in motion. The Covenant fleet, still reeling from the wounds sustained to their flagship, were reforming their lines. It looked like they were set to retreat for the time being, their ships firing off covering plasma torpedoes as they turned away from the fight.

"Fire wave three," Bren said finally, his three-part play coming to final fruition.

A number of precision torpedoes from the Ninth Fleet struck out across space, hot on the tail of the asteroids. Bren then ordered his fleet to initialize evasive maneuvers. He and his crew watched from external camera feeds as the torpedoes just barely managed to catch up to the asteroids as they began approaching relativistic speeds, detonating them on impact. Destroying the asteroids served a double purpose.

First, objects could only reach certain speeds, and by extension, only get to a certain level of danger, if their mass wasn't as great. Which meant that blowing the asteroids up into smaller bits allowed those bits to travel even faster, which was even deadlier. Even Covenant energy shielding couldn't withstand objects traveling that fast. Secondly, it made it easier for the asteroid bits to hit a target. Shooting a gun in space wasn't like shooting a gun on a planet surface, where it loses velocity after a short distance. In space, objects travel until something actually stops them. And 5 average-sized asteroids, fired in the method that Bren had used, were virtually impossible to aim, in regards to accurately hitting a moving target at such a distance. It was just pointless to try and calculate, even for smart AI, because there were too many unknown variables. And so, by detonating those asteroids, it created a cone-effect. Like turning a single bullet into a shotgun blast in mid-flight. The single bullet could have missed the target by a few feet; but a few dozen smaller bullets fired in an outward cone pattern could easily hit the target.

Several hundred thousand rocks collided into the backside of the Covenant fleet. Point-defense lasers blasted away, swatting aside as many of the deadly fragments as possible. It wasn't quite enough, however. Energy shields flared brightly with the impacts, and at least three of the frigates lost their shielding completely, finding themselves underneath a hail of rock and stone. Holes were punctured into their hulls at awkward angles, but Bren was mainly interested in their engines - which they'd charitably exposed when they turned away from the fight. The engines on one frigate in particular ignited, unable to remain stable underneath the blistering assault of asteroid bits. Several other ships found themselves in similar positions, and another ship had its engines detonated entirely, ripping the entire frigate apart in an internal explosion that stretched from stern to bow.

The remainder of the Covenant fleet - a handful of destroyers, mixed with a handful of frigates, with a pair of carriers and the single cruiser flagship - made their way around the backside of Iola, the second moon of Macrag. The third engagement of the battle had just come to an end. The Covenant would stay out of range for the time being.

"What's our damage report?" Bren asked, still standing right at the helm, glaring at Iola as if he could will it out of existence.

First Lieutenant Jonesyn began reading off the list of ships that were either out of commission, or heavily damaged. The list was longer than Bren liked. The Ninth couldn't keep up this fight for much longer, not without a chance to refit and repair. With the Covenant sitting tightly behind Iola, Bren couldn't risk it. They could be within striking distance within a short amount of time. And he couldn't afford to give up his defensive position around Macrag itself, just to press an awkward attack on a group of waiting Covenant ships.

"The _Night Haunter_ is reporting crew casualties, but they are still in green condition."

Bren was glad to hear it. Being the only other _Marathon-_ class ship in the fleet, the _Night Haunter_ was just as important as the _Despair's Light._ "Put me in contact with them and encrypt the channel on my personal COM," Bren told Jonesyn. She nodded in acknowledgement.

With the fighting taking a break for the time being, Bren had a moment to relax and think. He gave orders to his bridge crew to distribute throughout the ship - mostly repair and work orders - and then he left the bridge, with the AI Minerva in charge.

Janessa came onto the COM channel.

"I'm told you're still good to go another round," Bren said.

"We've taken some casualties, but nothing we can't handle. I'm more worried about ammunition," Janessa responded.

Bren chewed on that for a moment. He'd been worried about the same thing. He stepped into a restroom and washed his hands, then splashed cold water onto his face. The crow's feet around his eyes had started to get slightly more pronounced lately. He wasn't a young man.

"Me too," he said finally. "But we can't afford to resupply. The minute we move to the refit stations, they're going to launch another attack, and we need to be in position to receive them. We still got that other problem, too."

"You mean the satellites?" Janessa asked.

"Yes," Bren dried his hands off, and then lit a cigarette before leaving the restroom. When they'd arrived in orbit above Macrag, their defensive grid setup had disrupted the satellite network surrounding the planet. It was a complex affair. Planets revolved around their stars, and so there was no such thing as remaining 'stationary' above a planet because planets were always on the move. They don't sit still. And the best way to keep position over a planet, using as little energy as possible, was to enter its orbital field itself. Which was the same place where its satellites were located. The only meaningful way to communicate from space-to-ground was, really, through the use of radio transmissions bounced through the satellites to the ground. And the Ninth Fleet hadn't been able to directly contact its ground forces since the fighting had started. Couldn't meaningfully contact the marines or the planetary defense forces. Couldn't contact the ODSTs. And with every engagement between the two fleets, more and more Covenant ground forces slipped through the blockade.

"We can fix that problem," Janessa told him. " _Without_ breaking our formation."

"How?"

"I've got a couple of... _tricks,_ up my sleeve. Hey - Bren J - you're not the only one who's good at this stuff, y'know?"

Bren took a long drag on his cigarette. He had the entire restroom clouded in smoke, and didn't care.

"Ohkay. I'll bite. What're you thinking?"

* * *

Mago crawled over to a small window off in the corner of the room, glancing out at the streets below. Lights swam around as Covenant infantry forces scoured the streets, looking for anything to shoot and kill. They had engineers with them. A pair of hunters. And a number of ghosts. It was still dark, though. The city power had gone out a long time ago, and as a result, none of the regular streetlights worked. Only the emergency security lights worked, and those didn't provide as much illumination. It'd been like this for the last four hours - ever since Mago had gotten his team to bunker down within the Illyrias Royal Bank.

As the day had drawn on, Covenant forces had slowly began to infest the city, choking its streets with grunts and jackals and elites. Originally, Mago had attempted to get his team to the outskirts of the city, where the primary defense force was located around the civilian bunker. But casualties had started to mount up as they'd kept running into Covenant.

So the plan was to hide out within the Royal Bank's control center - a fortified room at the top floor of the building, with its own power supply, good sightlines, and security cameras and systems in place. And then, under cover of nighttime, sneak out the city and attempt to reach the civilian bunker.

But that plan had just fallen through. Mago had a good bird's eye view of the surrounding area. There was no way in hell they could slip past the Covenant. Numerous dropships had taken control of the local airspace, and hunter-killer teams paced the streets like predators, presumably looking for Mago and the others. And there was an elite spec-ops team operating in the area somewhere. Mago only knew about them because, through the usage of the control center's security feeds, he had spotted their heat-signatures through the thermal optics view setting.

Plus, he could hear battle raging on, and it sounded like it was coming from the direction of the bunker, which made sense. Judging by his ears, there'd been a fierce battle going on over there all day. Even now, he could hear the staccato rhythm of automatic weapons fire, and the whooshing sound of plasma guns. There was no telling how large the body count had gotten, for both the UNSC and Covenant.

Furthermore was the problem of the militia troops. There were only five of them left, and they were worn out. They didn't have the same level of conditioning as the ODSTs. And they didn't have the same skill-set. Any attempt to make it out of this swarm would end in abject failure. Either the militia would slip up, and give away their position, or they'd simply run out of luck and walk right into a killzone. Mago could only hope that Captain Sparr had fared better, and had managed to locate the ONI blacksite.

Mago sighed and leaned back up against the wall, falling into his own thoughts and perceptions. He hissed momentarily at a small stab of pain in his arm, which still hurt. All lights were out in the control center. The room was mostly built up like a corporate office, with desks and cubicles and computer monitors everywhere. The primary security station sat at the heart of the room, with view monitors that linked up to security cameras all throughout the Royal Bank. There wasn't much to see. There weren't any real windows in the room either. They were more like viewholes, and were scattered around the room at its corners. Despite that, Mago had still ordered all lights out. Even though the control center had its own power supply, they needed to conserve that energy - and keep it from being detected by the Covenant.

It was quiet and dark. The only sound worth noting was the sound Mago was making, as he crunched down on a stale ration. It was stale and nasty, but the body needed food to produce ATP. Looking around the room, he could still make out the others. Most of them were sleep, ODST and militia alike, lying mainly around the security station. As Mago was on watch - which he preferred to be on - he'd ordered everyone to get as much rest as they could, because tomorrow would be a hard day.

One of the city militia troops had refused to go to sleep, though. Mago watched as she approached him from across the room.

"You should get some rest, seriously," Mago told her as he bit down into a block of beef jerky.

"I can't sleep," she said. Her name was Lyons, and she'd managed to keep herself wound-free the entire day. She took a seat against the wall next to him. "I keep thinking about all the people we've lost, and all the people we're going to lose. And when I close my eyes, all I can see is the Covenant," she said in her interesting accent.

"That's good," he told her. She looked at him confusingly. "It means that you're still you. You still recognize what matters. It's what sets us apart from these aliens. Our humanity. Really, that's all that we have. If we don't fear losing ourselves - losing our homes, losing our legacies, our destiny - then we might as well just let the Covenant run us over. Immanuel Kant stated that our agency as humans makes us ends, and not means. And the Covenant see us as means.

We owe it to ourselves to remember who we are and what we're fighting for," Mago finished. He took a swig of water from his canteen.

"Now, get some rest, Lyons."

"You know," she started then, ignoring the command. "I was born here in Illyrias. You should have seen this city back in those days. It was so prosperous, so great. We had everything we needed here. But when the War got serious, things started to get hard. Our local government started to get corrupt, and our poverty rate started to rise. I joined the Noble Guard not even two years ago, hoping to do _something._ But I feel like I haven't made a difference in anything."

Mago took another sip of water, staring straight ahead as he listened to her words.

Lyons continued. "If we make it out of here, I think I'm going to join the UNSC."

"If we make it out of here, then your city's probably still going to be standing when we leave. They'll need you here, more than ever before."

She shook her head. A strand of her dark hair fell on Mago's hand. "There's nothing left for me. Not after today. I don't have anything except my life, and if I have to, then I'll gladly give it for the UNSC. Not for a city that's a shell of its former self."

"Mmh," Mago had to respect that. "You know, you remind me of my sister. I've been trying to talk her out of joining the UNSC, but she won't hear it. She's got her mind set on it."

Lyons glanced over at Mago, smiling. "She must be proud to have a brother like you. So brave and confident. Is the UNSC so bad?"

"I'll be honest with you, Lyons. One thing that you realize, after fighting this war for so long, is that there are no good guys. There are none. It's not the UNSC, it's not Insurrectionist cowards, and it sure as hell isn't the Covenant. There's only survivors, and that's what the UNSC is - a survivor. They're not interested in saving, not interested in winning or protecting. Only interested in surviving. And to be real, with the way this war is going, there's no surprise there."

"You talk as if you don't like the people you work for," Lyons said. Mago looked at her.

"The UNSC is the only force out here that's putting up a fight. And I'm interested in fighting," he told her. Then he added, "You talk as if you don't like the people _you_ work for, Lyons." He smiled briefly.

She laughed, probably for the first time this whole week.

There was a series of beeps within Mago's helmet, and then he heard a pop of static, followed by a voice. It was the COM unit.

He scooped his helmet up immediately and placed it on, listening.

"...status on your position?"

Mago recognized the voice as belonging to Captain Guyro, from the fleet. They must've gotten a communications relay setup in low-orbit.

"We've suffered mass casualties; they've pushed us back to our last exterior line of defense. But we've hurt them bad, and they've lost steam. It's just a war of attrition, now."

That was Jane Shepard. So she was at the bunker.

"Lieutenants Hill and Tomlinson are both KIA," she continued. "And Sergeant Lucius Cain is incapacitated."

 _Damn, no!_ Mago looked back out the viewhole in the direction of the bunker. He had to get there somehow. Sitting here inside the Bank wasn't doing anything.

"And we still have a number of MIA, including Staff Sergeant Rictus."

Even though communications were back up, Mago couldn't utilize his system. The second he did would be the second the Covenant found his location, and there was no chance of surviving against the forces he was currently looking at.

"Hold tight, trooper. The other battlezones across Macrag have either already fallen, or are collapsing as we speak. But we're close to breaking the backbone of the Covenant fleet. And when we do, they're going to run. Captain Guyro, out."

Mago pulled his helmet back off and looked at Lyons.

"What is it?" she asked, putting a hand on her assault rifle.

"We need to get out of here," he told her. "You know this city. If you had to get to that bunker without being seen, how would you do it?"

Lyons thought for a moment. "There is an underground subway network we could get into. But when the governor evacuated everyone to the bunker, he put the city in lockdown. The underground access thresholds are going to be sealed tight. We don't have the access codes."

"Where's the nearest entrance?"

"There should be an access ramp two blocks this way," Lyons said, pointing in a southeastern direction. "But like I said - we don't have the access codes to get in."

Mago shook his head. "That won't be a problem for me. It's time we got out of here."


	11. Chapter 10

**-Chapter 10-**

Mago crouched down low beneath a small span of bushes and shrubs. His breathing was steady, but his hands shook with fear. Every man had fear, and Mago was no exception to that rule. And given the current situation, he had a very good reason to be afraid. Overhead, a Covenant phantom slowly edged its way above the rooftops, a series of spotlights on its underbelly scanning for targets. Half-destroyed buildings and crumbled debris was illuminated by the search pattern. Even though Mago was beneath a lot of cover, one of the lights on the phantom still crossed above him. It stayed on his position, and he closed his eyes and held his breath.

After what felt like an eternity, the phantom moved on. Mago held position for a long time before he risked peeking out of cover. He could see the tail end of the aircraft as it moved out of sight, it's spotlights moving along with it.

After breathing a sigh of relief, Mago snapped off a quick series of hand signals. In unison, everyone broke from cover and shifted to the opposite side of the street.

In cover on the next sidewalk, Mago did another pair of hand signs and ordered everyone to fall in. Then, he crept his way to a staircase leading to the underground sub-system. The last time he'd been in one of these, he'd been on a different planet, a different battlefield. It was dark inside, but his VISR allowed him to see well. The base of the stairwell stretched off into a hallway. With his M7S Caseless raised at the ready, Mago slowly made his way down, the others following closely behind.

The hallway spanned a short distance before breaking to the right. There was a small series of emergency bulbs lit across the ceiling, but they were dim and outdated. Mago glanced over his shoulder at Lyons, and she nodded. They were in the right place.

So he rounded the corner, and came upon a massive sealed blast door. There was a sign over the top of it which read: **Sub-Level 01**.

Being this deep into the ground, Mago decided to switch on his flashlights, and everyone else did the same; he had one strapped to the left side of his helmet, and another strapped across the barrel of his Caseless.

"What's that?" someone asked.

Mago scanned the door and spotted a hole on the right side of it, blown through by some serious firepower. It was large, but not big enough that any human could fit through. He slowly stepped towards it, checking the damage out up close. Loose wires hung free from the hole, and large shards of jagged metal sprouted outwards.

 _Jeez._

"Something did this. Something's down here," Mago whispered to the others.

"What do you think?" Pall asked, stepping next to him to check out the damage.

Slowly, Mago shined his gun's flashlight through the hole, and carefully peeked through. It was pitch black on the other side, dark enough to where his flashlight couldn't pierce the haze. He couldn't make out any details.

"Not sure," he replied. "Might be drones."

"I fucking hate buggers," Pall said.

"These doors are three feet thick. How can something break in like this?" Lyons asked over his shoulder.

"Walls don't necessarily stop the Covenant," he said. Then, he slung his gun and found the keypad to the door. "We're still getting in there, though."

After two minutes of tinkering with the control mechanisms, the keypad started flashing red for a moment, before returning to its original state. There was another series of flashes, and then it prompted Mago to input something. He typed in a hexadecimal series of numbers, recalling a discrete logical ordering he'd learned a while back. He hit enter, and the keypad buzzed an angry red. Then, it switched to a green color and beeped calmly.

Motors grinded within the door as it lifted slowly.

"Got it," Mago said as he unslung his Caseless.

The door whined, almost too loudly for comfort. Its gears were straining to lift, and Mago assumed that the hole had something to do with that. After half a minute, it finally gave out of its limited power supply, making it only a few feet off the floor. It was just enough room for everyone to crawl underneath.

Because his own map of the city didn't extend to a readout of any sub-levels, Mago had to rely on Lyons for guidance. He signaled for her to take point. She swept beneath the door.

"Come on," Lyons said from the other side.

In single file, everyone rolled their way into the subway network. Mago's VISR automatically jumped to its max setting to cope with the darkness. Combined with everyone's flashlights, he had more than enough sight to work with. The only problem was that there wasn't much to see. Aside from a series of benches and seats lining the floor, there was the subway rail system itself, which led off into a tunnel of inky blackness.

"That's where we need to go," Lyons said, pointing down the tunnel. "It should take us to a split, where we take a left. From there, we go straight until we hit the next split, and take a right. Then it's not far."

"Sounds easy enough," Mago said. "Everyone, form up - staggered diamond. Lyons, you lead the way. I'm right behind you," he told her in confidence.

She nodded assuredly, but Mago could tell that she was afraid. There was something down here - had to be. Most likely, it was drones. They were nasty creatures that infested themselves into the hearts of UNSC cities. Flying insects. A freak spin of biological evolution that'd produced man-sized, intelligent bugs. Mago had encountered them before, on rare occasions. Typically, they were lightly armored and easy to kill, because they relied on their exoskeletons for protection; any extra armoring tended to hinder their maneuverability. But they were always in mass numbers, and despite their uncanny skeletal structures, they could shoot. And when they didn't shoot, they had sharp claws.

The group made their way into the deep of sub-level 01, in bad lighting. Most of the militia guards were lightly wounded; some had bandages wrapped around their heads and arms, and one of them was walking with a terrible limp. Mago could tell that they were running out of steam. He switched up the formation, and put the militia in the middle, with the remaining 10 ODSTs in a staggered, surrounding circle. He put Pall on rear duty, and decided to stay at the front himself, next to Lyons.

Then, he reached around his utility belt to his third spare canteen. It still had a lot of water in it.

"Here," he said, handing it to one of the militia troops. "Pass it around and make it last."

Early on in his military career, he'd learned the critical importance of carrying spare water.

It was then that they came up on the first split. The magnetic rails broke off in either direction, and in either direction was a long stretch of dark. Mago flashed his light down the lefthand route.

"You said this way, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Lyons told him, pointing her gun down the tunnel. She signaled for everyone to follow.

"Why don't they give out the access codes to the Noble Guard?" Mago asked as they made their way down the tunnel. He'd been wondering that ever since Lyons had first told him about it. Effectively utilizing underground sub-levels could make the defense of a city much more substantial.

"The official reason is because the local government doesn't want looters and crime gangs infiltrating the sub-levels when the city gets evacuated," Lyons said. She didn't believe that, Mago could tell.

"And what's the unofficial reason?" he asked her.

"Like I told you, Illyrias has been run by corrupt leadership for years now. The government officials use the sub-system for themselves during citywide emergencies, so that they -"

Before she finished speaking, Mago grabbed her by the arm and put a finger to his helmet, signaling for her to be quiet. He held up his open palm, then did a small sweeping motion. In unison, everyone's lights slowly scanned their surrounding. The tunnel spanned about 15 yards wide in either direction, and although there was a lot of space, there wasn't much to be seen aside from rail tracks and graffiti covering the walls.

But Mago had heard something, had sensed it. He looked up to the ceiling.

Drones hung from the ceiling in organized lines, too many to count. They were everywhere, spanning all the way down the length of the tunnel ahead as far as Mago could see, dripping from the ceiling like hanging sacks of meat. As if suddenly alerted to the intruding presence, the drones began spreading their wings and making odd, scratching clicks with their mandibles. Narrow limbs unfurled from beneath wings, brandishing unarmed razor-sharp claws. At once, hundreds of miniature eyeballs flickered open, jumping straight to the humans. The one in front, closest to Mago, screeched its alien tongue and dived from the ceiling.

"Weapons free!"

The tunnel erupted in a blistering, hot spam of automatic weapons-fire as they engaged the drones. Mago unloaded into the drone out front and killed it mid-flight. Its large corpse crashed into the ground and slid for several feet before coming to a twisted rest.

An unholy blend of piercing, reverberating gunshots, and a chorus of maniacal, alien chittering filled Mago's ears. The drones were everywhere, darting around at inhuman speeds like nimble shadows in the dark.

"Form a circle and fall back!" Mago shouted. They needed to get some distance, or they'd be overwhelmed.

He jumped from target to target, spraying only just enough rounds to kill them. Due to their light armor, they were easy to down, but they made up for that with their numbers and speed. There was a scream from behind Mago, and he risked a quick glance back just in time to see one of his troopers get ripped through by three drones. Hard alloy and cloth was torn through, gutting the exposed trooper like a hundred cuts from thick razorwire. The sound of the trooper's screaming was drowned out by the gunfire that killed the drones on the spot.

Mago turned, quick enough to see a drone swooping in from directly above, heading straight for Lyons. It would kill her - unless he stopped it. He shot it in the head and back, and the creature plummeted to the ground in the middle of the formation, scrabbling in mad desperation. Mago put a precise round into the small junction between its neck and head, shattering its nervous connections in a splash of dark blood and bits.

A hard blow to his side sent Mago tumbling to the ground himself. Dark, slimy mandibles screeched in his faceplate as the drone attempted to rip his helmet off. Mago gritted his teeth and headbutted the creature as hard as he possibly could. It probably didn't do any real damage, but it stunned the drone nonetheless. It bought him enough time to find his sidearm M6. He placed the barrel right into the drone's midsection and emptied the whole magazine, staring the creature down the entire time. Mangled innards and blood dripped onto Mago's armor, and he tossed the dead drone off in a heap.

It was then that Mago realized that nearly all of the militia had died, as he was on the ground right next to a broken human corpse, shredded to ribbons by sharp claws. He scrambled to his feet and brought his gun to bear, searching around for Lyons in the dark.

There was a scream from off to the right, and he immediately turned towards it. A pair of drones had tackled Lyons to the ground, ripping at her. Desperately, he fired from the hip and unloaded his gun into the side of the drones. His clip ran dry early, only killing one of the sick creatures. Slinging his Caseless, he pulled out his combat knife and charged the remaining drone, ramming it into the wall like a gravball tackle. Quickly, he drove his knife into the exposed area around its neck, several times. Blood caked his gloves, but he didn't notice. He then slammed it to the ground, and brought his knife down again, and again.

"They're retreating! We got 'em on the run!" Corporal Pall shouted from somewhere nearby.

Quickly, Mago let go of the drone rushed over to Lyons. Deep gouges marked her all over, where blood flowed freely from the wounds. Even though her entire body was scarred and torn, her hands clutched at her throat, where she'd suffered a severe cut from one of the drones. Mago lifted her, holding her in his hands. She couldn't speak, but Mago could see the fear in her eyes.

 _God, no._ Lyons coughed, and flecks of blood collected across Mago's chestplate and visor. He pulled his helmet off.

"Hang in there, Lyons. Hang in there," he said. But he knew that it was too late.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of moments, fear and desperation lurking beneath them, and then she finally died in his arms. For a long moment, Mago sat there on his knees, holding her. Then slowly, he rested her on the ground and closed her eyes, before putting his helmet back on. He stared at Lyons blankly, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I fucking hate buggers," Pall said. "They're on the run. But we're running low on ammo. We need to move, sergeant. Rule dictates that we exfil the area ASAP."

Still staring at Lyons, Mago's mind jumped back to a memory that seemed like it was from a lifetime ago. From back in his first week at boot camp. A story that Drill Instructor Ramirez had talked about. A decision. Carrying the ammunition, or carrying the bodies.

Bitterly, Mago squeezed Lyons's hands, before crossing them across her chest. He placed her gun next to her body. After that, he took her small dogtags.

Then, he turned to Pall. "Collect all the ammo you can from those that didn't make it. We're not getting turned around by this - I'll lead the way from here on out," he said.

Mago had lost people throughout the entirety of his short military career. He'd learned to cope with it through reading the works of Marcus Aurelius, Seneca and others. But Lyons had been different. She reminded him of his own sister. He should've stuck closer to her, should've kept her in sight. He'd told her that he'd be right behind her, and he'd failed her. Now, she was dead. Mago had marveled at her apparent luck over the last few hours, how she'd seemed invincible. It hadn't been her decision to come to these tunnels. Mago had made that decision for her, had exposed her life to danger. He should've turned back the minute he'd realized that drones had entered the tunnels, should've never left the Bank to begin with. If _only_ he'd played it safe. If _only,_ if _only_ he'd done his job like he was supposed to. Now, he felt like he couldn't leave her, but he had to.

Mago frowned and shook his head, snapping out of his daze. He was above this. He was Mago Rictus, and he'd been in Hell all his life. Another death was nothing to a man who'd been surrounded by it for years. He wasn't in the business of sadness and depression, he wasn't in the business of self-pity. He didn't have time for sorrow and mourning. Didn't have the mental faculties for it, didn't have the inclination for it, and didn't have the patience for it. It was a privilege that Mago didn't have, and that he didn't want to have. Mago shut off his emotions, like he usually did, and stood up.

"It's time to move."

* * *

Jane Shepard peered out of a small viewing hole in the upper-most pillbox of the outer defense section of the civilian bunker. What she saw was a battlefield littered with rotting corpses - some human, most alien - broken vehicles, and shattered defensive positions. Even though the nighttime sky obscured vision, she could see the carnage. Smoke pillars rose upwards in various angles, and small fires raged across the entirety of the field. It was the result of a brutal, face-to-face brawl that'd lasted for hours. The Covenant had steadily chipped away at the defenses, had slowly gained ground, until they'd pushed the bunker defense force all the way back to the 'doorway' of the bunker itself. And the line had held.

"They're not coming back," a voice said from behind Jane.

She turned to see Corporal Jain Zarr approaching, her gait impeded by a severe limp. Despite her words, Zarr still hefted a machine gun over her shoulders.

Jane looked back out across the field. "Until we get confirmation from the fleet, we haven't won just yet. And they still have a lot of troops in the heart of Illyrias itself," Jane said.

Jain took a seat on top of a crate of ammunition. She'd taken off her helmet, as well as her ruined chestplate and shoulder guards. It left her with no protection for anything above her waistline, except for the standard undersuit; it couldn't tank any gunshot wounds, let alone plasma rounds.

"Yeah, you're right," Jain said. "Plus, we still ain't heard from Sparr. But we scared 'em shitless, I think."

Jane had almost forgotten about the captain. The course of the day had only allowed her time to think on a single subject - keeping the Covenant from getting into the bunker.

"Any word on Sergeant Cain?" Jane asked.

"Doc says he should pull through. He's a tough bastard," Jain sighed then. "We lost a lot of guys today. Newbies and veterans."

Jane nodded, hoping to herself that Cain would pull through. She leaned back from the view hole and faced Jain, pulling off her own helmet.

A lot of people had died this day. Both Lieutenants Hill and Tomlinson had gotten killed early on in the fighting. All of the militia NCOs had fallen in battle over the course of the day. And their field commander - Ti Michka - had taken a direct shell from an enemy Wraith tank. It was a loss that Jane had felt, because Michka had reminded Jane of herself. But Michka was gone. At least Jain was still here.

"How did you survive that?" Jane asked.

"Survive what? You mean when I got thrown downhill by that elite?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, jeez - I know you're kinda new to the platoon and all, but I got a reputation for being the company's standing badass."

Jane allowed herself a smile. "Is that so?"

Jain lifted up her chin confidently and gave a smirk, then patted the side of her machine gun. " _Hell_ yes. I hold the throne, so... Can't really afford to die. Somebody else might steal the show then. Like Magnum."

"Like who?" Jane asked, confused. She could've sworn she knew everyone's names.

"The Staff Sergeant. Mago Rictus. We call him Magnum because he's kind of a gunslinger with the M6," Jain said, as she leaned forward slightly. "He's a Carthaginian, too. But like I said. I hold the throne."

Jane laughed for the first time in the last two days. "What 'throne'? And Carthaginian?"

"Yeah," Jain said, leaning back and relaxing. "He's from New Carthage, same as me. But we're not exactly cut from the same cloth, though. He's out of Pilvros; I'm out of the Wetworks. Makes me tougher than him. Which is why I'm on the throne."

At that point, Jane really didn't have much of an idea what Zarr was talking about, but she laughed anyway because it sounded funny.

"Get more people like me out here on the frontlines, we'll have this war wrapped up in a few months' time," Jain said.

"You always like this?"

Jain smiled, then rolled up her sleeves, leaning on the set of ammo crates lazily. "Hey - it's who I am. I _live_ for this. You shoulda seen me back before I enlisted. I thought I could do anything I wanted. Hell, I still do. I just don't talk about it like I used to."

"You're... not usual," Jane said.

"I try not to be," Jain said confidently. She had a bold personality. "Oh - I almost forgot. The Royal Commander wants to speak with you."

"You know what he wants?"

"Can't say that I do. I can't really stand to hear him talk, to be honest."

Jane sighed heavily. "He can wait," she said. Jane wasn't about to come at the beck and call of a spineless politician.

Jain gave a wry smile and chuckled. "And here I am thinking I was the only one who liked doing my own thing."

"In the meantime," Jane continued as she peered back out the viewhole. "I'm going to scout outside for a moment."

"I'll come with you. I gotta get some fresh air."

Jane helped her the corporal to her feet, and together, they left the command pillbox. A stone stairway led down into the heart of the defenses. Shell casings were spilled across the rocky floor, along with discarded weapons that'd been broken during the fight. It was a cramped space, forcing everyone who moved within it to keep a hunched posture. They made their way down another series of stairs, passing by more troopers and militia alike. Most of them were wounded at this point, but if they were out here at the mouth of the bunker, then they weren't seriously wounded. Despite the day's grit and fight, everyone seemed to be rather relaxed. Some were sitting around and chatting, while others were playing cards and reading books and sleeping.

Hitting 'ground level', Jane led the way to the massive sealed doors at the front. They stood roughly 20 feet high, to allow for even some of the largest UNSC vehicles and transportation vessels to pass through. The set of doors weighed over a few tons, easily, and had to be operated by a series of mechanical gears connected to the bunker's intra-system computer network. The gatekeeper, an older militia troop, saw their approach.

"What're ya doing?" the man asked from his seat off to the right.

"Heading out for a moment."

"Can't let you do that, lieutenant. Orders from Commander Iktha himself."

"Just open the damn door," Jane told him as she walked up to the threshold.

"Can't. He's keeping the whole bunker on lockdown 'til further notice. Nobody gets in or out without his say-so."

Jane turned to face the militiaman. "Open. The damn. Door."

The old militiaman pinched his face and set his lips in a thin line. Such a dumb look. He hesitated for a moment, and then without further word, he tapped a series of buttons on the console and the doors split apart. He mumbled something beneath his breath, but it was too quiet for Jane to hear.

"What was that?" Jane asked him.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

After that, Jane put her helmet back on and unslung her battle rifle. "Let's go," she said to Jain.

They emerged out the mouth of the bunker into a very dark night. Jane's VISR immediately filtered out an outline of the surrounding area and illuminated it. She could make out even very minute details, and it all looked the same as it had when she was inside the top pillbox. There were still the dead corpses, though, which disturbed her a little more than was comfortable. Quietly, Jane set off ahead, Jain behind her.

"Tell his ass to shove it? You might just be my new hero," Jain said quietly.

Jane said nothing as she investigated the area. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she felt that she needed to be out here. Up above, the sky was mostly cloudy. Unlike earlier, Covenant air-traffic was virtually gone out here at this point. They'd stopped moving close to the bunker after losing several of them over the course of the day. Even though both the grizzly tank and cobra tank had been destroyed long ago, the Covenant hadn't risked coming close with another dropship. And after their last attack, they hadn't risked coming close to the bunker with anything at all. They'd fully retreated to the city, perhaps to gather up strength for a renewed attack in the morning. But by then, Bren will have wiped out the Covenant fleet, or at least have them fleeing.

They crossed over a makeshift bridge that led across the lips of a trenchline. Small holes and craters were carved into the ground everywhere, along with half-buried bodies that'd gotten covered by dirt and debris. Right up ahead was a small grouping of dead jackals and grunts.

"Check it out," Jain whispered, pointing to a half-dead jackal that was still moving.

Together, they approached the squirming alien. One of its legs was twisted at a brutish angle, and the other was trapped beneath a broken wing from a Covenant ghost. It had bullet wounds in its collar-bone area, as well as AP rounds that'd shredded through its chest armor.

"Ik'kaah!" the jackal spewed from its lips. It said a string of harsh-sounding words in its alien language. Jane had no idea what it meant, and didn't really care.

"Hey, lieutenant - guess who I am," Jain asked, then crouched down to the jackal at eye-level. "Open. Your damn. Mouth! ... What was that?"

Jane laughed. "Yeah, you could use some work on those impressionist skills."

The jackal screeched out another string of words angrily. Maybe it understood what Jain was saying. Maybe it had some type of language-translator built into its headpiece. Jain didn't care, and she brandished a combat knife and plunged it into the creature's throat. It gurgled dark blood in the moonlight and twitched helplessly. In its last throes of death, it raised its hidden right arm, gripping tightly to a plasma pistol. Quickly, Jain seized the weapon from its clutches. The jackal blinked its nasty eyes a dozen times before finally dying.

Jain stood back up, looking down at the pistol. "Oh, jeez. This is nice," she said. She pointed and fired the gun into the ground a few feet ahead, and it bit a small hole into the ground. "Still works."

"You should hold onto it," Jane said. "If you plan on keeping it, then I wouldn't let anyone know about it. UNSC regulations and all."

"Isn't it, like, against regulations if you don't say something about it yourself? You've seen it, so you have to report it if I don't turn it in."

Jane shook her head. "Nah. You can keep it - I really don't care."

"Hah," Jain exclaimed, attaching the alien gun to her belt. "You're definitely my new hero."

They continued on across the battlefield at a leisurely pace. From just looking at the bodycount ratio of corpses alone, one would think that the Covenant had suffered a severe loss. But they could throw away thousands of troops and not even fill the sting of it in their population.

Smoking wreckage from a destroyed warthog blocked their path ahead. A warm fire crackled within it, burning away the excess fuel and leaving behind a blackened shell in its wake. There were no signs of who'd been in it; the driver's seat was just a crumpled mess, and the rear half had been wrenched off completely. Dancing shadows stretched across the ground as the flame spat upwards.

Slowly, they rounded the warthog, and came up on the bodies of a group of elites. At the center was the elite Marshal - the same one that'd killed the tank commander from earlier. Jane could recognize it easily from its distinct armor modifications. Whoever had been in the warthog must've managed to take it out, or at the least, die with it. Looking at the elite up close, Jane could realize just how big it was. Had it came after her instead of the old tank pilot, Jane would've gotten killed.

"We got us a big one today. They're gonna feel that loss," Jain said, as she gave it a hard kick.

Jane looked forward at the scene ahead. Past the outer-most defenses was mostly open field, with occasional tree groupings. Most of them had gotten blown away during the fighting, leaving behind split trunks and shattered logs. Beyond that field was a massive hill that reached upwards, but it wasn't as tall as the bunker mountain itself. Illyrias city could be seen around the righthand side of the hill, and its skyscrapers could be seen stretching past the top of it. Off to the left was a long valley that stretched away from Illyrias and deeper into the wilderness. About an hour or two ago, Covenant dropships could still be seen hovering around the city. Like they were searching for something or someone. Now, they were gone, and Jane assumed that the Covenant must have redirected their aerial search squadrons to the far side of the city, miles away.

Just then, a series of gunshots rang out in the distance, from somewhere not far away. The sounds of other guns joined in, followed by what sounded like plasma weaponry. Intense gunshot-plasma exchanges echoed in the night atmosphere, growing more intense by the second.

"That's really close," Jain said, bringing her machine gun to bear. "Somebody's out there."

On the far side of the hill ahead, the sky lit up, as if a small star had just exploded over there. Very faintly, Jane could feel the rumble in the soles of her boots. Something big had just blown up, and the gunfire continued.

"And somebody's catching hell right now," Jain added.

Jane glanced back over her shoulder to the face of the bunker. It was too far away. It'd take too much time to go and get backup - _plus,_ she'd most likely have to deal with that Commander Iktha.

"Follow me," Jane said as she headed for the hill.

If they could get to its summit, they should be able to make out just what was going on. Since they didn't have to worry about Covenant aerial forces for the time being, they could move freely.

After a dozen or so minutes, they made it to the top of the hill, crawling in prone position. The ground was soft and messy and crawling with insects, but Jane ignored it. Slowly, she dug into the earth and pulled herself over the top of the hill to see the scene down below.

A long series of Wraith tanks, lined side-by-side, were ablaze in a dark-purplish fire. Jane could just make out the Covenant troops - it was a lot of them. A lot of them. They'd been gearing for another assault on the bunker, had to have been. Most of the grunts and jackals ran around frantically, their morale shattered by the violent explosion that'd destroyed their tanks. Of the Covenant troops who had their senses, they were all scrambling for cover into a thicket of trees, making it hard to see them. An elite ultra, adorned in glistening silver-white armor, was attempting to rally the Covenant forces, urging their forces to remain calm. They fired reaction shots at an unseen group of targets off to the right. Jane magnified her visor, and could barely see dark shapes, deep within cover on the right flank, firing on the Covenant soldiers.

"Those are our guys," Jain whispered.

Flaming debris and broken woodchips ignited in the heart of the Covenant forces as another explosion went off, sending trees toppling and grunts scattering. A group of elites and jackals arrived on the scene moments later, laying down heavy suppressive fire. There was an audible crackle, coupled with the sight of blue, rigid plasma as an elite activated an energy sword. Another explosion rocked the outer-edge of the Covenant perimeter, but it didn't cause much damage. Dark shadows moved quickly as the small group of ODSTs shifted in the direction of the bunker.

"We have to cover them," Jane said. She pointed to the elite ultra as it shouted orders to its comrades. "Keep your machine gun focused on him!"

"Gladly," Jain said as she fed a large magazine into the gun and opened fire. The machine gun was a high-profile weapon, impossible to keep subtle; it was brutishly loud, and converted one-fifth of its rounds to tracer-shots automatically. It made up for all of that by being deadly. On average, it could lay down over a hundred rounds in less than half a minute.

Bringing the scope of her gun up, Jane scanned the Covenant troops for targets of opportunity. They were busy trying to get a handle on the situation, as they were now facing UNSC forces from two separate directions simultaneously. A team of grunts entered her field of vision, coming from somewhere off to the left. The grunt in the center of the group was carrying a plasma cannon on its shoulders, and the others were sporting high-powered weaponry; at least two fuel rod guns, as well as a concussion rifle. Jane took her time to aim, fired off a series of precise shots. The grunt toting the plasma cannon was pierced in the neck area several times, rupturing its suits' internal systems and killing it on the spot. She fired another series of rounds, and connected with another grunt; its body armor was pierced after the fifth shot, and a mixture of mucus and blood spewed from the wounds. Its backpack flew off, like a broken jetpack. The device spun around in the air, out of control, before exploding in a haze of methane gasses. The remaining grunts broke off in a desperate run, scrambling around for immediate cover.

Return fire started zeroing in on the hill. Plasma bolts sailed by overhead and smashed into the ground in front of Jane. Although she presented a hard target, it was still risky to needlessly expose herself. It was important to stay on the move in combat.

"Let's change positions," she told Jain. The corporal took a moment to secure her weapon's strap around her torso.

They got up and ran to the right. Technically, it was very early morning, yet it was still as black as night time, so their dark black ODST armor gave them an added camouflage bonus, and it helped. Jane kept her breathing in check as she ran along the hill, keeping her eyes on the Covenant forces below. They were starting to get a solid defensive position set up, and at least a dozen elites had found their way to the front. This fight wasn't going to end well at this rate; it was time to get back to the bunker, before the Covenant found out just how small their numbers were. As long as the Covenant believed they were under attack by a large force, they wouldn't move anywhere. That façade couldn't be maintained for long.

Jane switched on her COM unit. "Friendly units! Make your way to the bunker, ASAP - we'll cover you!"

Jane looked over her shoulder at Jain, and signaled for her to set up her LMG. Their new position was stronger - just inside the mouth of a natural foxhole, offering much better cover than their previous spot.

It was moments later when Jane heard in her earpiece, "Whole damn city's coming after us -" an explosion cut the voice off for a moment, which Jane immediately recognized as belonging to Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus. He was alive; he'd made it. Jane saw the explosion in real time, as a fuel rod gunner had fired on the ODSTs. An entire tree toppled over, and the small flash of light illuminated the troopers for a moment; they were too far away for Jane to identify them individually. She couldn't hear anything from Mago's COM feed except for gunfire and orders being shouted.

The next few minutes were a blur of action. Explosions lit the area like a fireworks display gone wrong, and hundreds more Covenant troops spilled their way into sight. Far too many to hold back at the hill. Even still, Jane continued to take out as many targets of opportunity as she could; a jackal sharpshooter here, a grunt grenadier there. But there were too many to slow down the tide. The only good news was that Mago had somehow managed to take out their wraith tanks - a feat that probably saved the bunker itself. Had they attacked in bulk with those tanks, the fortress would've been lost certainly. Jain's ammo had started to run low, and they used that as their cue to head back down the hill into safety. The staff sergeant's team had already made it out the danger zone.

Together, they sprinted back towards the bunker. Jane spotted Mago's team a few dozen meters away; they were close enough for her VISR to pick them up and register their FOF tags. There was only 7 of them - and they were carrying someone wounded.

It took several minutes to get across the outlying defenses of the bunker, where the bulk of the day's fighting had taken place; they had to skirt around broken vehicles and piles of bodies that'd begun to smell horribly. By the time Jane made it to the bunker itself, Mago's team was already there, waiting on the doors to open.

Jane jogged up to greet them, Jain following closely behind.

"Sergeant," Jane said as she came up behind them.

Mago was on one knee, breathing heavily. His armor was battered to hell; there were sharp gouges covering him in several places, speaking of a day filled with CQB encounters. The rest of the troopers were in roughly the same shape. They'd been through some hell.

The sergeant rose to his feet and turned to face Jane.

"You made it," she said, breathing heavily herself. She'd thought he was dead. She realized just how glad she was to see that she'd been wrong.

"A lot of others didn't," he said quietly. "Thanks for the help back there, by the way. But they're gonna be hitting this place hard, soon. Luckily, we snipped their vehicle support."

Jane nodded. "I know," she said. She recognized the wounded trooper as Lance Corporal Johnathon Rico. His wound didn't look life-threatening, but it was serious. He was leaning up against an empty ammo crate, clutching his chest.

"Knew you wouldn't kick the bucket, Magnum," Jain commented as she patted his shoulder. With her visor off, her grinning smile could be seen. "You guys didn't see Garv?"

"He's dead," the lance corporal said, a grimace strung across his face. Rico pulled out a pair of dog tags.

They all got quiet for the time being. An unspoken moment of silence as they all thought about those that'd been lost.

And then the bunker doors finally parted. Corporal Pall picked up Rico to carry him inside. After several seconds of heavy motorized gears churning in place, the interior was exposed to them. Mago led the way in, and was greeted by an array of the militia guard troops. At their helm was the Royal Commander, Bhe Iktha. The man's face was set in a sour pinch.

"Do you defy orders now?" Iktha posed the question more like a declarative statement.

"What? Move out of the way," Mago told him.

"I gave strict orders to your lieutenant here, that this bunker is to be _sealed_ until I give word otherwise. No one in. No one out," he said. Mago glanced over his shoulder at Jane, then turned back to face Iktha. "As Royal Commander, I outstrip you all in rank; therefore, my word is _law._ I do believe you've broken that law, trooper," Iktha said as he glared at Jane.

Jane bit her lip in frustration and stepped forward. "You're the one who's got it mistaken. We don't take orders from you. Let me make something clear, Iktha: you and your entire city's population would be dead right now if it weren't for us. So back off."

Iktha held his ground and puffed his chest out. "I think not. This is my city. This is my world. And frankly, your UNSC presence is not wanted nor needed here. And on my world, my word is law."

Mago shook his head. "We don't have time for this - where's Cain?" he asked. He turned and signaled for Pall to follow, and they brushed past the militia troops without regard. Iktha was absolutely fuming.

"Hey! Stop that man! What is your name, trooper!?"

Before anything further was said, an explosion from outside rocked the foundation of the bunker, stirring up dirt and dust from the old fortress and sending several of the militia to the ground. Jane looked around and saw an approaching Covenant army. Hundreds of plasma bolts struck the face of the bunker, and stray rounds found their way inside.

"Shut that door!" someone shouted, and slowly, the bunker sealed itself up. Jane rolled out of the line of sight, quick to avoid getting hit. Iktha wasn't as quick, and caught a round from a plasma pistol. He fell to the ground, grimacing in pain as he clutched at his wound. A trio of militiamen swarmed to him to drag him out of the danger zone.

Covenant troops could be seen rushing forwards across the open ground, trying to close as much distance as possible, firing their weapons wildly the whole way. Tracer rounds could be seen streaking out to connect with them as the bunker's defenses kicked in.

Jane got to her feet. "We need to get everyone into position, quickly - move to your designated areas!" she shouted. The door finally shut closed a beat later, punctuating her words. She ran over to the staff sergeant. "Rictus! I can get a better view of them from upstairs in the command hub," she told him.

"Alright. They're going to get through this door - trust me, I know. I'll stay here and make sure that it's the furthest they'll penetrate," he said, then he turned to face corporal Pall. "Get him to the infirmary," Mago said.

A group militiamen led the way into the heart of the fortress, carrying Commander Iktha on a stretcher. Pall followed behind them, carrying Johnny Rico on his shoulder. The walls shook in time with the explosions shelling the fortress. It signaled the start of the final fight of the day.

* * *

 **1511 Hours Aleria - Barren Lands Standard Time**

 **27 February 2550 (Military Calendar)/**

 **The Barren Lands, Inthropia, Aleria. Elduros System**

 **Blackdust Operation Facility**

The Elduros star was a blistering, unstable B-type orb that would probably die within the next million years. B-type as it was, Elduros presented the image of a brilliant, blue-white ball of fire, larger than most. Of the few planets that rotated it, Aleria was the only one where life was at least possible, albeit incredibly difficult. The UNSC had abandoned the prospect of Aleria as a colony many decades before. Among the harsh, numerous droughts, was the problem of lawlessness. Civil administrators had given up on running a proper world the instant the War had broken out. In place of those administrators had risen rival wargangs - pirates, powerful smuggler groups, mercenary warbands, and courier guilds. The hell of Aleria was a perfect fit for those hellish groups, and the planet itself served as an unofficial hub for black market, illegal crime organizations and the like. There was no worry of UNSC response - definitely not at this point in the war. Aleria was too far away, too far gone for the UNSC to waste resources protecting.

And that fit well with Vexx. A human in her position had everything to gain by having as little UNSC interference as possible. She was a duality of kinds: a gun-for-hire merc specialist, and an underground weapons and equipment designer. Indeed, Vexx had little care for the UNSC. What she did care about, however, was her business. And she wasn't sure if she liked the way business was heading, currently.

"I'll need 100 thousand," she said as she stared at the holo-picture.

"Unreasonable. Eighty five thousand," the small man said.

Vexx leaned back in her seat calmly and twirled a serrated combat blade between her fingers. Then she used her index finger to flip the knife, and caught it in the palm of her hand. Then, she cut a slice of apple from the fruit in her other hand. Without looking up at the man, she asked "Who do you think I am?" as she bit into the apple.

"I think you're reasonable, which is why I'll repeat once more - 85 thousand."

Vexx twirled her knife again, and then leaned her seat back a little more. "Let's go over this job again," she said, looking back at the picture in her hands. "You want him gone. And this girl, too. And you want me to stubb a heavy-cruiser." She looked up at him and held eye contact.

"I've calculated your odds of success to be substantially high."

" _I'll_ calculate my odds of success, Sleen."

The small man was a URF agent. A very high-ranking intelligence agent, at that, and he went by the name of Sleen. Vexx had never dealt with him before, but she'd done work for the URF plenty of times before. Normally, it was business as usual, and didn't involve too many risks. But this small man, this Sleen, was asking for something a little more than the usual. So Vexx was going to charge more than the usual. She held up the picture in her hand.

"Why do you want him snipped? He's an ODST," she said quietly, gauging for his response.

"You're not known for harboring fear, Vexx."

"And this meeting won't be known for its success. Contact me when the URF has business to talk," Vexx said as she got up to leave the facility.

"Alright, wait," Sleen said in exasperation. Vexx got back into her seat once more, and leaned the chair back once again.

"Tell me."

"He's been trying to kill me for years now. I won't bore you with the details, but I need him gone. At first, I was always at least four steps ahead, and he couldn't get to me. But now, I'm only one step ahead, and he's closing in fast. I'd very much like it if you could end him, once and for all, so I can re-focus my attention on more important matters."

"Doesn't the URF handle this stuff? You're scared, and so you need to seek outside help?"

"You don't know how the URF works, so don't speak on it," Sleen said in anger.

 _Nobody knows how the URF works for sure,_ Vexx thought. She looked at the picture in her hands. It was a candid photo of a man dressed in all-black ODST workout dress. He was lean, his musclular frame filling out his t-shirt. There were small cuts on his face, and even more on his arms. Finely-cut black hair sat atop his head, just above a pair of cold, grey eyes. No tattoos, or piercings or anything of that sort. Which was uncommon for shock troopers. The name on the photo was Mago T. Rictus.

"You read the file I sent to you, correct?" Sleen asked.

"Mmhmm". She stared at the photo and thought back to the files Sleen had sent.

"Then you know he's... Unstable. Different. An emotionless vector. The only pain he knows is physical."

"Well, why do you want this girl gone? As I understand it, she works for you... Right?" Vexx asked, picking up a second photo from the table in front of her. This photograph was a headshot of a woman with small features and smaller hair. Her name was Tamarenne Castilla.

"That information is inaccessible to you - I'm not even allowed to speak on it. She's your primary target. The Rictus is your secondary concern."

"Fine," Vexx said. Slowly, she sat the photo down and looked Sleen in the eye. "Like I said - 100 thousand."

"Ninety thousand."

"Ninety three thousand."

Sleen finally relaxed his unnecessarily rigid posture. "Ohkay, deal. I'll transfer half to the account you gave me now, and the other half _after_ you get the job done."

"Do you know where they are now?"

"Deployed to a warzone. But they'll be back, and when that day comes, he'll come after me. You need to stop him before that."

Vexx cut another slice of apple and ate it off her knife, then she tossed the core aside and pocketed her blade. Without any further word, she left the cramped room, glad to be out of its musky atmosphere. The facility itself belonged to a third-party group called Blackdust, a gang of professional smugglers who had control of most of Aleria. Vexx had never been directly associated with them herself, but she knew some of their staff. They believed in saving money whenever it was possible, and that belief had stretched to their ground facilities. The entire building was dark, cramped and poorly conditioned. Vexx couldn't stand the heat, and Aleria was a melting hotbed. She couldn't wait to get off-world.

After several minutes of funneling her way to the exit, Vexx stepped foot into an arid desert with sands that had been burnt to a dark color from uncanny exposure to the Elduros. Overhead, the sky was cloudless, and heat beamed directly down to the surface. Because of Aleria's dogged atmosphere, the sky appeared a blue-greenish hue, and was far brighter than any other world Vexx had ever stepped on. She found a piece of shade a few blocks away from the facility and stood there for the moment, checking the time on her wrist.

This particular Blackdust facility was located in an isolated village within the heart of the Barren Lands - a long stretch of the Inthropia continent that harbored one of the harshest climes and some of the deadliest animals on Aleria. The village was small, and had the bare essentials for proper functioning. A sandstorm had recently rolled through, and as a result, tiny, hot dust particles filled the air. Vexx placed her helmet on and it filtered out the air she breathed. Others could be seen sporting similar attire. This village wasn't a true home to anyone, and only harbored short-term visitors - those visitors being various criminal syndicate triggermen and hires, mercenaries, smugglers and the like. Everyone was armed and equipped and potentially dangerous. The only 'official' authority came form Blackdust themselves; their guards watched everyone closely and were the so-called 'peacekeepers'. It was a weightless title. The only time the Blackdust guards did something, was if it involved Blackdust themselves.

"Well, look who it is," a voice said from Vexx's rear.

She thumbed a button on the side of her helmet and spun around at the same time, switching her custom-built VISR on. Her armor was a heavily-modified cross of UA/PPE-Bullfrog ODST battle dress; strong durability and protection, lightweight with good maneuverability, and a jetpack strapped to the back. Her VISR outlined four men approaching, their own gear noticeably professional. The red cross stenciled onto their chestplates identified them as belonging to the Afterprime Brotherhood. The Brotherhood was a notorious guild. Vexx recognized the one who'd spoke.

"You want something, Haish, or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Oh, I want something, alright," he said as he approached slowly, his retinue following closely behind. They brandished shotguns and SMGs. Haish stopped about ten feet from Vexx. "I used to think you were brave. Badass. Maybe even hot. But now I see you're dumb. You're stupid as hell for showing your face here."

Slowly and calmly, Vexx tapped a series of buttons on her left wrist, keeping her attention focused straight ahead the entire time. "And why is that?"

"I told you what would happen if I ever saw you again."

"I took my cut and left. That's what we agreed on for the op. If you can't look out for yourself, then you should find a new line of business."

"The Brotherhood never forgets. Something you seem to have forgotten."

Vexx laughed out loud, her posture laid back and relaxed. "My memory's just fine."

Haish and his three lackeys brought their guns out, aiming them at Vexx. "Doesn't matter. Luckily for you, the credits are a lot better if we bring you in alive. So you can come with us to see the Boss. Or, you can die, right here, right now. Your choice."

Vexx shook her head just perceptibly. "You're not much of anything, Haish."

Just then, a drone appeared over the top of a nearby building, flying fast and low. It swooped across the street. Hooked to its undercarriage was twin autocannons - rotating barrel machine guns that could shred through quite a lot. And that drone had been designed by Vexx herself, with a built-in link to her armor's internal network suite. It would kill whatever targets she'd specified through her VISR. And Vexx had just specified four targets a few moments earlier.

Coming in from behind, the drone unloaded into Haish and his gang, catching them off guard. Vexx rolled off to the side behind an artificial tree, pulling out her M6 sidearm. She peeked out of cover to see the drone cut down two of them on the spot, tearing through their light armor with ease. They fell in smoking heaps on the hot ground, their bones twisted and gnarled to an ugly degree. A third attempted to run, but was hit in the back with a second burst from the drone.

Haish had fallen to the ground in fear, crawling across the ground to try and get away. Vexx hit a button on her wrist, and the drone went quiet for a moment before buzzing off out of sight. She tapped her jetpack afterburners and boosted over to Haish, landing right in front of him. He attempted to pull out a small handgun, but she kicked it aside. Then she snatched his helmet off and kicked him in the head. A wet crackle sounded as his nose was crushed, gushing forth blood freely. In a limp daze, he rolled onto his back, covered in dark red dirt.

After coughing up a sick mixture of dirt and blood, Haish attempted to speak. "Fuckin' knew we were underestimating you."

Vexx cocked her head to the side. "You're not the first to die for that mistake. And you won't be the last." Then, she drew her pistol and blew a hole into Haish's crown, exploding his head on the spot. The shot rang out loudly, and none of the nearby bystanders seemed to care in the slightest. This was Aleria, the Barren Lands. A dark, cutthroat world, where justice didn't exist.

Vexx reloaded her weapon then signaled for her personal dropship to come and pick her up, already consumed in thought about how best to execute her current mission. It would be a straightforward job; only two people to kill, and a ship to stubb. Her primary target was the sorry URF leech, Tamarenne. That was going to be uninteresting. But she was going to enjoy hunting and killing the ODST. She'd read his file and seen his service record. He was a trophy, and was Vexx's for the taking.

After spending a few minutes to loot the dead Brotherhood triggermen, Vexx thumbed a button on the TACPAD attached to her left arm as she headed for the nearby airspace-port. The small screen display brought up a further list of commands, and she selected a series of them. A second later, her suit's internal cooling system deactivated. Normally, being exposed to the heat on Aleria was almost unbearable, especially when encased in heavy armor like hers. But Vexx would be out of the atmosphere, and off the planet, soon enough. The less she ran the power on her armor, the less problems and malfunctions it ran into. It cost enough money to maintain the suit, and Vexx was efficient; she'd take any precautions to reduce the amount of funds she spent.

Making it to the airspace-port, Vexx could see that it wasn't as crowded as it'd been earlier that day. The port was really just an open field, cleared to allow for a proper landing zone for any aircraft or ships that needed to land. It was ran by a guy named Hektor. Vexx spotted him sitting beneath his raised command booth on the approach to the port, his frame covered in shadow.

"That's 100, Vexx," he called out from above, still sitting down within shade.

"Last month, it was 70," Vexx said as she fished around in a compartment on her utility belt.

"What can I say - times are hard."

Vexx tossed the credits to him. She didn't trust anyone, but Hektor was a steady enough man. Vexx always paid up on anything she owed. And besides, Hektor had the port surrounded by military-grade autoturrets, and all it took was his command to get them to blast any unsavory targets. Vexx had witnessed the guns in action once before, and even she didn't want to tangle with them.

It was good to be back at her ship. Vexx had bought the vessel over a year ago. The funds she earned from selling her weapon designs and other tech afforded her enough credits to make such a purchase, and not feel the sting of it. It was a sleek ship, outfitted with its own Shaw-Fujikawa drive, standard energy shielding, and a complement of weapons, should she need to defend herself in space. The only thing missing was an onboard AI. And those were too expensive for even Vexx to consider purchasing. For the time being. With the money she'd make off of this current job, she could afford to buy one of the AIs off the blackmarket.

Thumbing one of the buttons on her wristpad, Vexx unlocked the ship's access ramp and marched into the cool interior, glad to be out of the heat. As the ramp closed up behind her, she removed her helmet and set about removing the rest of her armor. The drone had already returned to the ship a few minutes prior, and was sitting cozily in the corner of the main lounge. Vexx did a careful walk-around of her ship as she removed her armor in stages, always making certain that nothing seemed out of place. Aside from the lounge area, which consisted of a few seats and a holotable, the ship didn't have much. There was one bedroom, which Vexx rarely utilized, and there was a storage compartment. Lastly, there was the bridge.

The last of her armor plating fell to the floor as Vexx stepped foot into the bridge; she'd gather up the equipment later. Right now, she needed to plot a course. According to the intel that Sleen had given, her targets would be inaccessible for the immediate future, as the Ninth Fleet was deployed on a frontier world conducting a black-op. Within about two weeks' time, those targets would make their return to Reach. That was where Vexx would need to stubb the _Despair's Light._ A full disabling of a warship's engines was by no means an easy task, but it was a task Vexx could accomplish. And the URF girl would be there. So, two targets could be marked off on Reach alone. The ODST, on the other hand, was a part of a battalion stationed on Mars. That would make her mission twice as complicated, as Mars was twice as protected against civilian threats. And the Mars Civil Government had a huge bounty on Vexx's head; they would not miss her, even if she did her best to go undetected.

But, perhaps there was a way to avoid Mars altogether.

The ODST might be one serious helljumper, but he had a family. One that he clearly cared about. Based on the intel Sleen had, Mago Rictus had 40% of his monthly stipend automatically transferred to a bank account located on New Carthage. To a lady named Reiana Rictus - his mother. All Vexx had to do was a little... _Pushing,_ and she could get the ODST to come to her.

Quickly, Vexx pulled out a keypad attached to her starmap. She typed in a series of codes, and then she typed in the coordinates to New Carthage. The computer estimated the trip to be roughly 16 days by the standard Military Calendar. Vexx entered the command code, and the ship took off from Aleria. Three minutes later, she went into slipspace.

"This should be straightforward," she whispered to herself as she settled in for the ride.

Vexx headed into her storage compartment and took a long look at the contents within. Military-grade equipment of all varieties was packed into it. Custom-built computers and devices, modified datapads, weapons she'd tweaked. It was the closest thing she had to a hobby - a skill she'd picked up back when she'd been in ONI. Now, it was half of her livelihood. There was always someone willing to buy something, so long as that something existed to be bought. Vexx took a few moments to remove her undersuit and put on her usual casual dress. It took the next few moments for her to acclimatize to the cool interior, as all she had on was a tanktop and sweatpants. Then, she set to work on her latest - and best - project to date. She estimated within her head that it'd take about 16 days to finish. Just enough time.


End file.
